Hogwarts: A Mystery
by weregrrl
Summary: What happens when one of the Founders trips into the present? Salazar is pretty sure it should involve heads rolling, namely that bloody messy Gyffindor's, but will she settle into her new life enough to want to stay? And just how much did history get wrong? Obviously non-canon. Female Salazar, etc. Rating is subject to change due to *themes*. SS/SS
1. In Which Rusted Gates Foretell Misfortun

**A/N: Yeah, I've lost my Politically Correct Fanfic Censor. Yeah, it's pretty awesome (for me, anyway). **

**As always, I own nothing, I'm screwing canon over, and history is WRONG!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Dear Diary,

Is that how you start these things? Does it matter? Hmm...let's start with a story... That is, after all, the purpose of this entire journal - to debunk the myths from the truth...

To say I was pleased would be a vast overstatement. In fact, it was just a plain-out lie, and not one that I could appreciate. One moment, I had been enjoying myself, soaking up the last few precious hours before the students arrived; the next, I was on my sorry arse in the middle of the Entrance Hall, bruised and battered, several minutes _after_ the students arrived. Of course, it was Godric's fault. If that _man_ had an ounce of common sense left in his head, he would have cleared up the test circle hours ago _when we had actually finished __testing__ it, _and as I had 'encouraged' him to do (I can be very persuasive when I stop trying to not kill people). Another fun fact I have discovered about myself so far! I seem to be sprouting new personality traits as I go, today. Perhaps I have lost my touch? I seem to have lost all sense of everything else... But I digress. I'm speaking in more riddles today than Ro ever has in her entire life. To start from the beginning... I'll just start from where I remember:

* * *

My robes swished around me in a comforting manner as I headed towards the brilliant wrought iron gates. To see them glinting so in the sun, I could not help but to smile. Today was heralding the beginning of yet another successful year; I could just feel it! In a few short hours, the halls of Hogwarts castle would be swarming with the soft rustling of worn robes, and the tapping of great canes. And the younglings! Oh, to be able to impart knowledge upon eager minds! The castle was already humming with excited energy about the new arrivals, and my grin broadened. My old girl was enjoying herself, and I knew it to make her happy, for it made me so.

As the main architect of the colossal school, it was my duty to know all her ticks inside out; to meld with her if necessary, to feel her joy and sorrows. However, today my duty lay outside of the relative utopia my comrades and I had managed to create. For the third time in a row, we had been forced to add another year level above the others, as our Founding students had grown beyond the others in wisdom, yet still had a ways to go in finesse. The first to admit I was loathe to see them leave us - not for entirely unsentimental reasons - it had fallen upon me to retrieve the extra school materials the higher grade would be needing. It was a task I had become well-accustomed to - many of our students came from poor, or_ muggle_ families, and were in need of assistance regarding the acquisition of standard school supplies. _Poor dears_, a voice cooed in my mind, bringing sweet Helga to mind. It was not that I pitied them, but that I feared for them; what their lives would have become had one of us four decided not to venture beyond the known those six years ago. I had witnessed first hand the effects of muggle ignorance towards our kind, and whilst I did not condemn them for it, I highly recommended all my students to stay away from such places unless absolutely necessary. No doubt, had no one else stood up to allow commoners free tutoring, such children would be forced into a life of subjugation towards a wretched lord, or else face the horrifying death of a heretic. I frowned. Such terrible deeds...but that was a thought for another time. Today was a time of joy, and while I was loathe to admit it, I did quite enjoy perusing the stands and stores of dingy Diagon Alley. For all that it the air smelt of dragon dung and tasted of ash, there were some truly reputable vendors to back the community up. Ollivander's for instance, sold magnificent wands (and at a fair price) to eager young magicians who still needed the help of an artifact, but would not yet notice the unnecessary drain it had on one's magic.

I finally reached the tall outer-gates, in all their blinding glory. They boldly swung open for me, silent but for a slight creak towards my left. _Perhaps I should inspect that later_, I thought, only half distracted by the noise. Although the castle was cloaked by an impenetrable wind of fire, water, and mad air, rendering its borders not only impassible, but invisible, the surrounding area was known to be unsafe. From time to time, there had been reports of everything from robbery to murder near the outskirts of the School's forests. I had the creatures' word that it was not they, but that only served in heightening my anxiety. If it wasn't some dark sidhe having their time, it had to be humans. I shuddered. I really was not fond of muggles. Schooling my features to an indifferent mask not one bit suited to such frivolous Summer-time weather, my feet picked up a brisk pace as I headed towards the local wizarding community of Hogsmeade, likewise shrouded by a drab mist that clouded the muggles' eyes. Heart pounding, I suddenly found it imperative to learn the art of apparition in the near future. To Hel with my longstanding terror of being ripped to shreds by my own fickle mind; I'd take that over being ripped to shreds by anything else. Not that I would ever tell Godric any of that. I may have grown up with the man, but a fool to his ways I was not. He would undoubtedly find it terribly entertaining that _the_ Salazar Slytherin, heir to all that the name encompassed, and respected mage within the younger wizarding community was afraid of making a wrong turn mid-apparition. He already thought my dislike of muggles was hilarity defined. I need not encourage the lout further.

With these thoughts in mind, I reached the entrance to Hogsmeade, relaxing immensely as my feet touched the soft grass on the other side of the wards. None of this would be visible to the bustling townsfolk around me, should they even notice my presence. One of the first lessons father had instilled in me was to never perform any overt shows of affection towards anyone who wasn't currently held within my deepest trust. I hadn't realised what that had truly meant until I had grown somewhat - that there were some who still contested my hold over the family fortune, with my womanhood, and my 'undesirable' mother. I could never be sure of who it was, exactly, that held such a grudge against me, only that it wasn't any of the Peverell's - my cousins were, respectively, too kindly, too dense, and too abrasively distrustful to wish me any real harm - or any of my maternal family, who were for the most part so detached from the happenings of mortals that they could go years without acknowledging a day as having passed. That left me in a vulnerable position, and confined to my masks. How I longed to one day shed those skins, regardless of their purpose. I sighed quietly, reminding myself once again that this day was to be grand. Now focusing only on my duty, I headed to the Staff and Orbs Inn, which although crudely named, held access to the public floo network within, free for the use of patrons. I was not in the mind to buy anything even mildly intoxicating, but Stephan let me through regardless. His son was one of the Thirds at the School, and was most public about 'repaying his debt' to us four. Even when I insisted there was no need, I could understand his heart. Qualified wizards were like to earn more than any barkeep, no matter their inventiveness or love for the art of brewing. Passing said wizard at the bar, I tilted my head in acknowledgement. My gesture was rewarded with a hearty wave, before I reached the large ornate fireplace. The sooty relic was grande, and oddly clear of traffic this afternoon. Families traveling to Hogwarts had direct access to the entryway fireplace on days such as today. There was no time for drinking.

I reached to the powder jar resting on the header, slightly too far above for me to comfortably reach. Once my hand contacted with the unhelpful jar, I greedily pinched green crystals between my fingertips. Every time I managed to keep the jar from upturning its contents over the floor, I counted it as a victory. Not wanting to tempt fate, I threw the powder into the hearth, instantly rewarded with sparking green flames. I leaped into the ignited fire, stating, "Diagon Alley!"

In an instant, the breath was whipped from me. I was suspended in emptiness, suffocating without having time to realise it. Then the gritty cobblestone came up to meet me, and my lungs filled with the perfume of the sweaty Alley. I almost choked, only able to stop myself with the knowledge that it was better than apparition. Flooing was unpleasant, certainly, but it wasn't blinking in and out of existence. The worst that could happen with a floo was hitting your head on the underside of a moldy fireplace (which I discreetly made sure to do on my way into the main street); with apparition, you could simply stop, and never be heard of again.

Once on the street, I brought out my list of supplies. Apparently, we would be needing several copies of _Hark: A Spell is Coming!_ by Morgana le Fay, two new racing brooms (specified as _Cobolt Skies_ in Godric's dark handwriting), a single silver stirrer, three pewter cauldrons, and a copious amount of wolfsbane that made me slightly queasy to look at. I mentally added dragonhide gloves to that list. Since adding Care of Magical Creatures to the curriculum, several students had received far too many burns and cuts for comfort. I hadn't been able to do much but warn them to be prepared so far, but even then some persisted in their goading of the salamanders. Silly little fools...

A jovial voice ripped me from my perusing.

"Miss Slytherin! Good day." the voice boomed.

I looked up from my list, a smile playing at my lips.

"Sir Ravenclaw," I curtsied. Roweena's father merely waved me off.

"No need for formalities, lass! If it weren't for ye and that fire-haired lout, my daughter would still be wasting her talents playing for the _nobility_," he stated, matter-of-fact.

The way he sniffed when he said 'nobility' made my smile broaden into a smirk. If it was hard to dislike Harold Ravenclaw, it was considerably harder to dislike him when he was jesting at the expense of the wealthy.

"Watch your mouth, commoner," I remarked with a grin, "I might have to slice out your tongue."

Harold's mouth flew open, his arms shielding his face in mock horror.

"Such a vicious lady! Wherever do ye get it from? Certainly not from such proud and noble veins as that of Syltherin?!"

I slump over in supposed agony, "Although I loathe to speak of it dear sir, 'tis my unruly mother's blood which taints these splendid veins! Oh, woe becomes me!"

My act sends Harold into a hysterical laugh, bent double, slapping his thighs. I chuckle. Rowena's father is one of the few who hold my favour, if not for his accepting nature, then certainly for his brutal honesty. I smile at him.

"So what brings you to Diagon Alley, Sir Ravenclaw?" Regardless of his preferences, my upbringing tells me to call any respectable man 'sir', and Harold most certainly has my respect. Straightening up, tears in his eyes, he replies, "I came to purchase little Helena her first wand, M'lady."

My eyes light up. Rowena's younger sister will be starting at our school later this very day. Such a sweet girl, but very timid. Too timid to be in my house, I think.

"You've left it a bit late haven't you, Sir?" I jest. My company bows extravagantly in return.

"Forgive me for the way in which I have erred ye, M'lady. I am but a mere bard, and Galleons for us folk are hard to come by," he relates to me.

"Have you tried using Sickles and Knuts instead?" I return to him. We both chuckle at the comment. Harold makes to reply, but at that very moment, a very sprightly little girl runs up to us, knocking into my leg. She looks up at me, blushing terribly.

"S-sorry Miss Slytherin!" she squeaks. I smile at her.

"No harm done, Helena," I say, mindful of my tone. My words appear to calm the girl somewhat, but she remains jittery as she turns to her father.

"Da, I've got my wand," she states in her nervous little voice. Her father smiles back indulgently at her.

"Do ye now?" he asks, tweaking the girl's nose, "And what is it?"

"Hawthorn, thirteen inches...um..." she rushes. Harold rolls his eyes.

"Now slow down, lassy. You'll be giving yerself a headache," he chastises, but I can tell there's no heart in it. Few can maintain their frustration around Helena. Harold wraps him arm around his daughter's shoulders, and turns to me.

"We'd best be goin', lass," he says, "Can't have Helena being late tonight. 'Twas good to see ye again, nevertheless."

I incline my head in acceptance, "Yes, I had better get on with this myself. We're still clean out of a few integral supplies for the elder students."

Harold waggles his eyebrows in mock concern, "Aren't ye leavin' it a little late?" he jests. I laugh, smacking the air between us, as if to ask the pair to move.

"Oh, do get along! I'd hate to deduct house points before the school year's even began!" I say, eyes brimming with mirth. Harold stares at me.

"I'd fight ye, lass, but I know yer likely to do what ye say," he states, before moving towards the great stone fireplace behind us, "We'll be seeing ye!" he calls back. I wave in return, before rushing my way through the list in my hand. I don't have enough time to feel relaxed anymore; the Sorting begins within the hour.

* * *

Traipsing back to Hogwarts in the suddenly chilled air, and with no less than fifteen separate packages in hand and floating haphazardly around me was, to say the least, incredibly uncomfortable. I now had less than twenty minutes in which to reach the castle, organise the new stock, unhitch my hindering skirts in a respectable fashion, and reach the Head Table without seeming the least bit harried by my own lack of time. I knew I could do it; I'd have to if I wanted to set a good example for the younger children, especially those of my own creed, who were prone to being overly-observant and manipulative when it was least appreciated. The chugging of coach wheels on uneven earth behind me made me start. Despite the readied floo network, some parents still chose to send their children to Hogwarts in extravagant coaches; likely to prove wealth and status, more than to ensure their kin arrive in the right fireplace. Rattling past me at an ungodly speed, the cart knocked me off my feet, splashing half-dried mud across my work robes, and half of the packages. Delightful. Lucky it had rained last night. I would have considered jinxing the pompous riders, but as it was, I would probably drop my purchases in the day old muck instead. I decided to instead take note of who stepped out of the carriage, and to make the rest of their schooling life Hel. Subtly, of course.

Standing, I inspected my hands from above the mound of packages in my arms. Both of which were now coated in blood. This supposedly perfect day was becoming an ever-growing nuisance. Huffing, I continued up the cobbled path for yet another five minutes before reaching the doors to the entrance hall. The students had by now been relocated to the Great Hall, the first years waiting to enter through the side doors. Alone, I Intended to place my purchases in the nearest broom closet until after the Feast. Priorities be damned, I was too dirty, and too hungry to comprehend doing otherwise. In my haste, I failed to notice the rune circle still decorating the floor of the entrance hall until I had slipped over on the slick surface of the magic running through it. My skull cracked against the marble. I groaned. To fall twice in one day due to my own inattention. I really was becoming too careless. Looking around, I could see the parcels scattered everywhere, noticing that my vision was darkening. My body became limp, limbs no longer heeding my orders.

I saw my hand, blood running down it, fall lifelessly onto the closest rune. My vision blackened.

* * *

_Godric is really going to make sure I never forget this..._

My first conscious thought.

I opened my eyes a crack, expecting to see the roof of the hospital wing, greeted instead by the cavernous ceiling of the Entrance Hall. Voices whisper around me.

_Voices...? Why can't I see anyone?_ I thought, offended as I could be in my foggy state. A much more awake voice replied,_ Because you're on your back, on the floor, fool._

I grimaced. Trust the sarcastic side of my mind to awaken first. Holding that facial expression, I tried sitting. There wasn't anybody there.

"Gryffindor!" a raspy voice cried, followed by muffled clapping. Not whispering; Sorting.

I frowned deeper. Shouldn't they have looked for me before beginning the ceremony? Looking around, I realised the supplies had already been collected. None of my fellows would leave me there, had I been found. Perhaps it was an elf? But which elf would be so nasty? They're such caring creatures...

Concentrating, I glared at the floor. What a conundrum.

_What...? Wait! The circle's gone!_

I worked on recalling my last moments of consciousness. I had slipped, then blacked out.

_The rune! My hand! Blood!_

I paled. What had I done? I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings. Wasn't that what the people of my House did? How could I be so foolish.

_Breathe!_

I inhaled slowly.

_Mustn't panic. There must be a reasonable explanation of what's happened... I told Godric to clean those runes up when he was done with them! ...Must go into the Hall. Nothing bad has happened. The circle seems to have transported the goods away. We can purchase more... But, it used my blood. And they started the ceremony without me...? Nonsense, all is well. Everyone probably assumes I'm still in Diagon Alley._

I stand, gentle on my right leg, which I seem to have strained in the fall.

_First things..._

I heal the open wounds in my hands; something I should have done long ago. Then, straightening myself, I unhitch my skirts, and wipe them of the mud as well as I can with my hands. With all our magic, we still haven't found a way to scour clothes of dirt. I would find that thought humorous, if it wasn't my dress covered in mud. I look myself over one last time before deciding I am as clean as humanly possible. I find myself hoping for my hair to be in order, though I have no time to check. I'm already late for the Sorting.

I inhale deeply once more, before I push the doors to the Great Hall open. Keeping my eyes ahead, I make my way towards the Head Table, on its raised platform. I feel the students' eyes on my figure as I move. I smirk.

False confidence leads to amazing results...

I tip my head towards the woman holding the Sorting Hat poised above a gaping youngling's head.

"Good day," I smile, then falter as I realise I don't know her name. We were to expect several new arrivals this year, but I'd have thought someone so stern and commanding of attention would not have passed my notice. Frowning, I turn to the Head Table before me. Godric isn't there. Neither are Rowena, or Helga, and a particularly sour-looking man currently resides in what is meant to be my seat. I glare at him profusely. Amicably, he returns the gesture with equal force.

_Arse._

But I do not dwell on it for too long. A suspicion begins niggling at the back of my mind. I turn my gaze towards the students already seated at their House tables, searching. The uniforms are odd... No one appears familiar. Not even Helena is visible - not in the group waiting to be sorted, not at the tables. My heart clenches.

Fighting to keep calm, I continue on my way to the Head Table, halting in front of an elderly wizard with sparkling eyes. I curtsy, my eyes catching sight of a blackened arm.

_How curious..._

"Pardon me, M'lord," I say, sounding more polite than I feel, and by rights should be, both, "But do you mind telling me where this is?"

The man nods, looking quite amused by my query. I understand him completely.

"This, my dear, is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he rasps out in a friendly tone, and I nod along.

_I know. I built it._

He continues.

"And I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of this school."

That information halts me in my tracks. He smiles, still seemingly oblivious to my inner turmoil.

"Who might you be, miss?" he asks. I snap out of my daze.

"Huh?" I articulate.

_Oh, congratulations. That will win them over..._ My conscious starts to clap for me, a snarky sound. I'd almost blush, if I wasn't already so filled with dread.

"I'm, uh, Sally," I reply into the man's ever-pleasant eyes. Dumbledore inclines his head.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Sally," he says. I wince.

_Damned be Gryffindor and his humiliating nicknames!_

You'd almost swear that he was deriving pleasure from my now obvious discomfort. So much for my 'masks'. I'd probably have fainted by now if not for the intensely distrustful glare the seat-hog is still sending my way. I grin back.

"I would say the same, but I'm...I need to know something," I say, quiet as I can, feeling the entire castle population's eyes raking over me.

_The incredible Salazar Slytherin...outdone by a sloppy practice rune..._

I clench my fists.

Professor Dumbledore sits back casually, pressing his bony fingers together to create a peak.

"Ask away, my dear," he waves one hand in consent. I cough.

_I will NOT be nervous._

"What is-" I find myself clearing my throat once more, "What is the date?"

The Headmaster looks slightly surprised, and even that disrespectful furniture-snatcher turns the hatred in his gaze down to a low simmer.

"My dear, did you not set your watch?" the Professor asks in a fatherly tone. I start.

_What the ruddy Hel is a watch? _

_Don't be crude, dear..._

I know the shock is written plain across my face, so I use it to my advantage.

"Yes," I say, sounding perplexed, "However did you know?"

The man smiles serenely, "I forgot to set my own, this morning, and was almost late for the Sorting."

The dark-haired man stops glaring for a minute, taking the chance to scoff. My eyes flit between the pair; oblivious to shrewd, and back again. Dumbledore is still smiling.

"I'm afraid mine is a few minutes off, my dear," he said, looking at a silver bracelet on his wrist. The centre of which was a constellation of moons and stars, all rotating slowly, "But I believe it to be between seven and seven-thirty post meridiem, on the 1st of September."

I nod eagerly, expecting him to go on, but all I am met with is another blind grin.

"I expect you'll know the year," he states, amused. I do not appear to be leaving this situation easily.

"Actually," I say, "I was wondering if you could tell me that as well?"

Cue pleasant grin.

I get another smile back, "But of course! Isn't it tremendous when one loses track of time? The year is 1996."

This time I do choke.

"Ex-excuse me?" I squeak. I know I'm not doing myself any favours by the glaring one, but I am beyond caring.

"1996, my dear," he replies jovially.

I don't know how long I stand there with my mouth hanging open, but when I snap out of it, my first word is a high-pitched squeak.

"Gry...Gryffi...inndor.."

* * *

**A/N: How horrible am I, making Salazar a woman and stuff? :P**

Yeah, I just want to break canon history. :D

_I'd just like to note a few things here:_

*I'm sorry for any remaining spelling mistakes. I started writing this at 4 in the morning, and I CANNOT write that early. I have edited the above about 50 times, but I can't help everything.

*Once more, so tired I used the word 'satin' in place of 'stated' at one point, so if you see any of THOSE mistakes, please notify me. I'll fix it when I'm properly awake.

*Anything else that seems unintelligible, ditto. Tell me, I'll fix (unless you're talking about the whole 'woman' thing, in which case...no).

*I have the entire back-story planned, so is all good.


	2. Snoozing Hat Hidden Gryffindor

**A/N: I'm going to make this quick, because, frankly, I'm trying to watch Doctor Who. I've only edited this chapter once, so if you see any mistakes, tell me! Oh, and I got my art on to draw this fic a cover. Isn't it pretty? **

**Anyway, good night, and enjoy!**

**A/N2: I had to pull this down for a sec. I noticed an unfinished section. Sorry for the trouble. :(  
**

**A/N3: And I am an idiot for missing the replace button. Damn it! :P  
**

* * *

_Previously:_

_"Gry...Gryffi...inndor.."_

* * *

The Headmaster's eyes take on shades of concern.

"Are you feeling alright, my child?" he asks gently. I ignore him.

"Nineteen ninety six? What foul sorcery -" I pause my muttering.

_Gryffindor!_

My rage overtakes my sense, words pouring unbidden from my mouth, "That imbecile! That ignoramusss. That-that _idiot_! I'm going to ssssskin him!" I hiss. A few seated at the Table jump as I speak.

_What are..?_

My eyes widen. I have a terrible habit of lisping my 's's when angered. Godric no longer says anything about it, but I do know it causes many strife - even Rowena is still sometimes surprised. I place my hand over my face and sneeze. Not a very good cover, I know, but it has been known to work. Human minds rarely wish to remember things as out of the ordinary, pushing any suspicions away with logic. Looking into the Headmaster's eyes, I see my trick has not completely worked.

_He is perhaps more shrewd than he had first appeared..._

Contemplating this, I risk a quick glance at the other man. Still glaring. Still wary. I am of the distinct impression that one would notice everything. Dangerous. As I thought.

_I may have to fight for my chair... _

Quickly, so that no one will notice, I flick my eyes in the opposing direction, taking in a rather short man, and a tall woman, oddly reminiscent of Rowena. Both are staring at me out of curiosity, but there is suspicion there also. I turn my gaze back to the Head of the table. Time to right this, before the situation deteriorates.

"Please forgive my outburst, M'lord," I curtsy again, "I appear to have become lost on my way home. My traveling partners," I bluster, still incensed at Godric's thoughtlessness, "had been setting up for the night. I left to find some supplies. When I returned, I must have lost my way."

_The best deception is often a truth_.

"We have wards here, Lass. You could not have just walked in."

The voice comes from behind me, and I almost jump. I turn. The sorting woman has inched closer towards the table, no doubt intrigued by the action. I nod to her.

"I'm afraid I do not recall entering this establishment, Lady. I slipped on some muck, and hit my head."

I fail to add that these two acts did not occur in the same instance.

Unconsciously, I reach up behind me, feeling for signs of damage. Surely there must have been some? My head aches still. I frown.

"When I awoke, I was here, in that large room over there," I nod toward the doors, "I heard voices coming from beyond those doors, so I entered in hopes of finding assistance."

I turn back to the Headmaster, "Please do forgive me for intruding. It was not my intention."

The elder man seemed to be contemplating my words, but still he nodded.

"That is quite alright."

Lifting his head, he addressed the woman behind me, "Minerva, would you be so kind as to find Miss Sally some quarters?"

Minerva splutters, "We don't even know who this girl is! She could be dangerous, Albus," she warns.

_Can't argue with that_, I think. Aloud, I address the Headmaster.

"She is right, M'lord. I am a stranger to you all, and as much as I thank you for your kindness, I do not wish to overstay my welcome. It has been kind enough of you to hear me out. I should leave."

_Not that I'm going to. Even if I am to be tossed out, I shall find my way back in._

The Headmaster's eyes dance back at me.

"And why would you say that?" he questions.

_Because it is less confrontational than "Give me back my chair, and leave me alone"?_

"I do not wish to cause any unnecessary unrest," I reply.

"Then it can be supposed that you know how to return to your friends?" he asks, amused. I quirk my brow.

"Well, no," I admit.

_Although I would give anything for it._

Headmaster Dumbledore claps his hands together, smiling broadly.

"Then, my dear, I should suggest that you take up my offer to stay. It is my experience that Hogwarts has a way of offering protection to those most in need."

_If only you knew..._

I almost smile. I almost cry. I hold both inside me. Instead, I bow my head.

"Thank you, Sire," my thanks falls out, too brittle and meek for my liking, but I do not attempt to correct it. Too much has happened today, and it is working for me, anyway.

_How I long for my bed..._

I can hear the witch behind me begin to protest again, but Dumbledore cuts her off.

"Now, Minerva. I am sure that we can find a solution suitable to everyone here, tonight," he placates her, before addressing me, "Dear Sally, do you have a last name?"

"Smith!" the reply flies out of me before I can even think. What could I have said, "I am a great and almighty Slytherin!"?

_They would have checked up on that, surely. Unless..._

Unless my family was dead. The possibility hit me like a wave; the truth pulled to drown. My closest family, my friends, our children... In this reality, they were all long since dead.

_Helga...Rowena...Godric... Where are you?_

Dumbledore grins at my supposed enthusiasm.

"Miss Smith," he parrots, "do you have any living relatives?"

_Sensitive._

"I'm afraid my family are dead. My only friends are my traveling companions," I state.

Dumbledore's eyes fill with pity.

"Ah," he sighs, "you could not be more than eighteen, could you?"

I felt the distinct urge to huff.

Because of the age at which I built this castle, and due to the strength of the magic needed to preserve its walls, I had been forced with the decision of bonding to it, with my fellow founders. Due to this, and my mother's influence, I often found it hard to pass for sixteen years, much less twenty-seven. It tired me to no end. However, I realised that vain as I was, it would please me later. It certainly entertained Godric enough; his incessant preening and peacocking was proof of that.

_At least the charm was permanent - not a lick of age on these walls_, I noted.

Finding it prudent to conform the Headmaster's expectations, I replied, "Seventeen, sire. Born on the twelfth of November."

_Shoot me. _

"And have you had much formal education, Miss Smith?" he inquired.

I narrowed my eyes, seeing where this was going.

"I was privately tutored until I reached fifteen years, M'lord."

And I had been. His eyes sparkled.

"Am I to assume that you have not enrolled in any wizarding schools as of yet?"

"No," I reply. How could I? Up until earlier this evening, I had been Head Teacher at the only one in existence.

Minerva also seemed to be following the man's train of thought.

"Albus-" she starts. Dumbledore raises a hand to silence her.

"How would you like to enroll here, Miss Smith?" he questions gently.

I lower my head, pretending to consider the idea; soon finding myself truly questioning its merit. To stay within the walls of the school until I am able to find a suitable solution to my dilemma is key. Quite obviously. For that alone, I had already intended to agree to the man's terms. However, as I thought about it more deeply, I realised what consenting would truly mean. For one thing, I was Sally Smith here. I wouldn't have to bind my emotions so tightly. I could probably start bawling at this very moment, and no one would bat an eye; I was only a student - a mere child - it certainly would not be gossip worthy. Another thing I had taken note of - the women's clothes appeared to be less _confining_. It had always been a habit of Rowena's to chastise me for hitching my skirts, although she did the very same herself. I had even briefly noticed a few girls wearing pants, which struck me as particularly brazen. I loved it.

I found myself thinking that I had nothing to lose. Raising my head, I smiled, "That would be very kind of you. Thank you Sir."

The Headmaster clasped his hands.

"Then all is well," he cried, standing, "Students, may I have your attention please?"

I was under the impression that he needn't have even asked. Like my companions, he instinctively knew how to command a room. The Headmaster continued in a pleasant voice, "I am pleased to inform you that we will be having a new arrival into the sixth year, Miss Sally Smith!"

At this, he gestured to me.

_As if they hadn't been watching our exchange._

I smiled confidently and raised my hand. This was just my fellows and me, introducing ourselves to the New Years. I was at home. The students clapped, probably more for the Headmaster's sake than for gladness at my untimely arrival. Dumbledore spread his arms to silence the crowd. When the last of the muttering had died down, he continued.

"Now, if you would all be so kind as to listen, we will be returning to the Sorting ceremony," he concluded, "Miss Smith first."

Leaning slightly over the table, he called in a softer voice, "Professor, if you will," gesturing towards my head. Minerva looked at me, face pulled in consternation. She was twisting the Sorting Hat in her hands. I hadn't even noticed she still held it.

Carefully, she stepped closer to me, reaching to drop the Hat on my head. As always, it was slightly too large, and made to slip off. I grabbed it quickly before it could fall, allowing it to settle over my eyes.

The first thing I heard was snoring.

_Bloody hat_, I thought, _Nothing changes._

The Hat's snoring hitches.

_Wake up, you slovenly heap of cloth!_

_Argh..ah...ahhh! Who's there?_ It calls.

_Well, that certainly worked,_ I think, smug, _Who do you think it is?_

The Hat pauses for a minute, sorting through my mind. When it replies, it's tone is patronizing, _Salazar... I thought you were dead._

_And I once thought you were a good idea,_ I snapped, _Sometimes we're wrong._

The Hat sighed.

_What do you want?_

That's a lovely welcome for an old friend.

_It is, isn't it? Pity there aren't any of mine around to tell it to._

There was clearly no love lost between us.

_I want you to Sort me,_ I think.

The Hat is confused.

_Why ever should I do that? _

Suddenly, I feel a mischievousness float across my mind.

_Don't tell me you've finally realised you're too ignorant to teach?_ it coos, _Or did Master pull you off the staff?_

I snarl.

_No, you nasty hat! Your 'Master' was a lazy slob whose own incompetence sent me here, to a place where I neither belong, or am particularly welcome! Now, sort me so I can get you off my head. You stink of sweat._

The Hat sniffed.

_No need to be rude,_ it twittered.

..._Speak for yourself_.._. Listen, I'm not trying to start a fight. I am only pretending to be a student so I can find a way to leave this place, for my own. Then I can die in the past, where I belong, and you can forget I ever existed._

The Hat seems to be surprised.

_Unlikely_, it says, humming, _But I will Sort you... That's not to say you're going to like my opinion_, it adds.

_Just hurry up! _I yell to it.

The Hat huffs.

_These things take _time_, and _precision_, you know_... It complains

_Oh, shut up. I could quite easily turn you back into inanimate head-wear!_

_But would you really?_

Of course I wouldn't. That didn't mean I was happy he had called my bluff.

_How would you like some lice?_ I snarl. This has the desired effect.

_Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin..._ it murmurs to itself.

_Put me in Slytherin!_ I say. The Hat contemplates this idea.

_Well, you're driven...but you have nothing here to strive for, it states, You're certainly cunning...but you have no will to use it unnecessarily. _

_I wouldn't set a very good example if I did, would I? I snap, Have you forgotten the purpose of the pact?_

_'Teach them to be wise?' Of course I know... But now you're a student._

_I can still teach from within!_ I argue.

_No, you couldn't,_ it replied, matter-of-fact, _Poor Salazar._ _Wouldn't even fit in amongst her own house!_

Oh, delightful! Now I'm getting beaten down by a hat!

_But I know where you do belong_... it singsonged.

_Yes, in Slytherin_, I replied tersely.

_Noooo,_ it sang, _Your connection to that House died when you did... _

"Completely insensitive!" I mutter aloud. Beside me, I felt Minerva shift.

_And I did not die! I tripped! _

_Over your ego? _It snickered.

_Over Godric's bloody mess!_ I scream.

_Testy, testy_, it chastises, _Very un-Slytherin of you. _

_I'll show you un-Slytherin! I hiss._

_You already are._

It smirks. I can feel it smirking.

_You are lucky you don't have a neck, or I would ring it!_

_Such violence! You're not a Hufflepuff,_ it tsked.

I balked.

_Do you even remember Helga? _I question, shuddering a little, _No one would cross her twice._

It ignored me.

_And not a Ravenclaw. For what you lack in decorum, you most certainly do not make up in intelligence._..

"Put me in Slytherin, damn you!" I snarled under my breath. I was clenching my fists.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

For a moment, I believed he was heralding the mage's entrance. But as the Hat was lifted from my head, I knew different.

"Traitor," I mouthed, knowing he could not hear me. Still, I held my head high as I walked toward the cheering red and gold table. I do not recall the rest of that night. It all passed in a blur of feasting and laughter which I could not join in. My body felt cold. I do not even recall falling into my new bed later, long after midnight.

What I do remember is awakening the next morning to a sickening thought.

That everybody I know is dead, and I am alone.

* * *

A/N: Another chapter done! I know it's just the Sorting, and I would have continued, but it's already quite long, and DOCTOR WHO!


	3. Detention Setter

**A/N: I'm probably going to stop updating now, at least until next week, if only to stop pissing people off. This is the other half of what was originally to be Chapter 2.**

**Below, the action starts! Kind of. :P**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Previously:_

_What I do remember is awakening the next morning to a sickening thought._

_That everybody I know is dead, and I am alone._

* * *

The first class the next morning was ironically, Ancient Runes. I did not really see the point in it, but that alone did not uncheck the subject on my new schedule. The class itself was actually quite well-taught, yet it dragged on my nerves. This was Rowena's expertise, and Godric's latest 'passion', not mine. Add to this that the 'ancient' spells we were supposedly studying were actually relatively new, and exceedingly volatile in my time, and one can see why I chose to spend my time inking my parchment with daisies, and tumbling elves. And why shouldn't I? I was a student now. It was time for someone else to control the points.

The frizzle-haired girl beside me, however, had much different plans. Having been kind enough to lead me to our first lesson (which I apparently had no clue how to reach), I hated to pass judgement, but she really was working far too hard. Bent-backed, with her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth as she wrote, she looked rather as if she was racing, not learning. Sneaking a peek over her writing, I was surprised to find it incredibly... Well, her hand was as enviable as her enthusiasm. She looked up at me.

"Do you need something?" she whispered. I was flattered by her concern.

"No, I'm quite alright. I was just wondering how you take such good notes," I whispered back. The girl's eyes lit up immediately.

"Knowledge is important," she grinned. I couldn't help but agree.

* * *

After Runes, where I had learned absolutely nothing new, was lunch. I had never really gotten the chance to simply sit with my students, and was now admittedly keen to do so. So much had changed - I still couldn't believe my uniform had pants! Shorts, I think they were called. I was eager to catch up on the times, to integrate with them. I was of the growing suspicion that my mannerisms were now considered stuffy - old-fashioned. With any luck, I could pick up enough from this place to terrorise Rowena with when I arrived back home. Pants! She'd simply die!

Deciding to take the initiative, I slid into a position beside the girl from class - Something Granger, I recalled.

"You don't mind?" I asked, gazing around at her friends. She shook her head at me.

"No," she said, "Feel free to sit with us."

I grinned.

"My name's Sal, by the way," I said, shaking hands with the boy across from me; a vibrant redhead.

"Won Weazy," he replied through a mouthful of food, before turning back to his plate. The girl beside me sighed and shook her head in dismay.

"Ron," she corrected, "is a bit of a glutton."

She smiled at me in sympathy, before continuing, "And I'm sure he'd be really pleased to meet you if he wasn't hogging into everyone's food."

She raised her voice at the last part, causing the boy to look up sheepishly, ears turned to scarlet.

"Right," he said, wiping one hand on his robes before extending it to me, "Ron. Nice to meet you."

He looked toward the glaring girl, seeking approval to tuck back into his meal. How anyone could eat such monstrous amount - or afford to - I did not know. In my time, we often had problems feeding the children, much less eating three times our own weight in potatoes.

Soon, another boy came to sit beside the first; black hair covering his face. He looked to be in a bad mood, but perhaps it was just his haircut. It did seem rather...pokey.

My question was answered as soon as he opened his mouth.

"I can't believe that Snape got Defense!" he muttered, looking between Ron and the girl beside me. Admirably, the former actually took the time to look up from his plate.

"I know mate," he said, eyes wide, "He's going to bloody kill us!"

The girl frowned, "Don't be so dramatic. He's a teacher."

_As if that assures anyone's safety_, I think.

"You wait until he gives you a fifteen foot essay on the way a patronus is s'posed to taste," said Ron, waving his hand around in the air vaguely, "Then you tell me he's only a teacher."

I had no idea what a patronus was, but instead, I asked, "Who is Snape?"

All three of the companions looked at me. The dark-haired boy immediately held out his hand.

"Sorry, I didn't notice you there. Harry Potter."

"Sally Smith," I replied as I took his hand, "but please call me Sal."

He smiled. I couldn't help but think he shared an uncanny resemblance to my cousins, and myself, for that matter - right down to the green eyes.

_Perhaps he is a relative?_ I thought wistfully.

"Professor Snape is our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he continued as he sat back down.

"He's a stuffy bastard," Ron continued darkly.

"Ron!" Granger chastised. She looked around nervously before continuing in a low hiss, "He might catch you!"

Ron puffed out his chest.

"So what if he does?" he demanded, "Everybody knows it's the truth."

The girl continued hastily "But, Ron, that's not the point!"

"Don't bother, Hermione," Harry sighed, "He's right."

"Tough professor?" I ask.

"The worst," a voice comes from behind me. I look up to see yet another dark-haired boy coming towards us. He slips easily into place beside me.

"Hey Neville," the trio chorus...save for Ron, who waves halfheartedly from somewhere within his bowl.

_You'd think the boy never ate..._

"Neville Longbottom," the boy states, shaking my hand.

"Sal," I reply. I begin to tire of these introductions.

"Snape used to be our Potions professor. He's been after Defense for years, but Dumbledore wouldn't give it to him. Who knows what he did to get it," he explained, nodding towards the staff table. At the moment, there was only one man seated, and I already knew I didn't like him.

"He surely can't be that horrid?" I replied.

Ron scoffed, "You kidding? Neville's terrified of him."

The boy beside me shot him a dirty look, and I heard someone close-by snicker. Turning back to the Head Table, I caught the professor in question drop gravy onto his robes. Quickly, he swiped it away with his wand, what looked to be a permanent grimace etched into his face. I found myself momentarily gleeful.

_So there _is_ a spell for that! ...I still don't like him._

I then returned my gaze to our table once more, heaping whatever I could find onto my plate. If this Professor Snape was truly as bad as mentioned, then I needed all the sustenance I could get, even if it meant eating like Ron.

* * *

The first thing I noticed about Defense Against the Dark Arts was that everyone took it. There were very few of my classmates who were not huddled outside the door to the classroom that afternoon. This was not entirely unexpected on my part. The second thing that came to light, appeared as the rather sullen looking professor opened the door and snarled at us to get in.

Upon entering the room, the sheer darkness was near-blinding, compared to the relatively bright day outside. Once my eyes had adjusted to the gloom, however, it was the decor that caught my attention. Portraits of contorted bodies filled the interior walls, spaced apart in such a way as to command one's full attention. As I watched, many of the bodies rocked back and forth, screaming silent screams, participants in a torturous dance of death.

"How...artistic..." I said, nose wrinkled up in disgust.

"Something you wish to say, Miss Smith?" the condescending voice of what I could only assume was our professor flowed through me. I smiled in his direction, sickly sweet.

"You have lovely taste, Professor," I replied. Glancing into my eyes, it was obvious that I thought he did _not_. He noticed, sending me a sharp warning glare.

"They serve their purpose, Miss Smith," he ground out.

_Terrorising First Years?_

I thought of stating my opinion, but instead opted for finding a desk next to a dark-skinned Sytherin boy. He turned his nose at my arrival.

_Ignorant prat._

As the class went by, I realised that the portraits were, indeed, hung to inspire terror. A somewhat effective method, I agreed, but far too grizzly for my own personal taste. Why teach through fear what can be conveyed with fact? Either way, some would always be swayed into the Dark Arts; through fear, through thoughts of glory, curiosity, even despair.

Professor Snape wasn't exactly setting a good example, either. He was passionate about his class, that much was obvious. But his voice held too much love; too much longing the very things that he was supposed to be teaching against. It was slightly off-putting, and I began to drift off.

_I'm so tired...If only I was at home, and this was all but a dream..._

As I lost consciousness, the room began to dance around me, the sinister paintings becoming flowers swaying merrily in the breeze. I grinned. If I truly listened, the Professor's smooth voice was not unlike a lullaby...

* * *

"MISS SMITH! 50 points from Gryffindor for sleeping in my class!"

"Oh, shushhhhhh, God. You're 'noying me," I reply hazily, waving my hand in the general direction of my friend's voice.

"Miss Smit-"

"I said ssssshhhhuuussssshhh! I 'm gr..t...and powerful...Salad...bar! I...e-eat you..."

"-h, I said I will not tolerate dreaming in my class!" the voice hisses.

"..n-noooo. I-"

A hand slams down on the table in front of me, snapping me out of my daze. I jump.

_What was-?_

My anger suddenly rises to new extremes.

"For the love of Merlin! Can't you see I'm trying to sleep, you pompous arse!" I snarl out, raising my head to face the man, "What could possibly be so impor-"

Staring back at me is the face of my new professor, red from rage. I find myself thinking that it doesn't suit him at all, before I come fully to my senses.

_Oh...shite... _

"_This class_, Miss Smith, is what is so important. Perhaps you ought to remember that next time you think of dozing off in this room?" It was not really a suggestion. I was in trouble now. The professor's face grew redder by the minute, until I began to wonder if he was still breathing, or if he had actually choked to death on his rage.

"You will attend three detentions for _laziness_, and another _six_ for speaking towards a teacher in a derogatory manner. _Starting tonight_," he growled.

"Aye," I agreed, not wanting to make the situation any worse. My consent appeared to have no effect, save for angering the man more.

"You _will_ report here straight after dinner, and you _will_ not be late," he spat out. I could hear him grinding his teeth as he spoke. I nodded.

Finally releasing me from his gaze, Professor Snape regarded the rest of the students coolly.

"Class dismissed," he called, obviously struggling to keep his emotions in check.

_Well, that was a fruitful lesson_, I thought as I exited the room, _That man is batshit insane._

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it! Mistake reporting is, as always, encouraged!**


	4. Detention and the Riddle

**A/N: I think I may have lied to you all, because it's been about two days, yet here I am updating again...** **XP**

**Anyway, enjoy the fourth chapter!**

* * *

Detention turned out to be not half so bad as I had suspected. After the initial meeting with my stony faced professor, who forthrightly made it explicitly clear that his opinion of my worth as a human being was a particularly low, he had led me around to the school's library. My punishment turned out to consist of dusting down old and unused tomes, before re-shelving them. No magic was to be used. To ensure this ruling was followed through, the grim Professor was to sit in on the event.

From his face, I could tell he was not impressed. Having snooped around in my free period, I had learned that head of houses, for that was what he was - and of my Slytherin, unfortunately! – rarely took detentions themselves. However, due to unforeseen circumstances the school caretaker, one Argus Filch, had been called to investigate a rather hungry broom closet on the third floor. The wayward storage cupboard seemed intent on swallowing all who came within reaching distance of it. So far, three students had been eaten. As rescuing the poor souls was deemed more important than ensuring I had suffered for my earlier mishaps, Professor Dumbledore had announced that any Professors who had issued detentions to students so far, were to supervise them whilst he and the greasy caretaker worked on matters of more importance.

As such, I was now seated on the floor of the dimly lit library's floor, sorting through the school's various copies of _How To Accio Success_ under the smouldering gaze of the upset Professor Snape. Despite my predicament, and perhaps because of the professor's obvious want for me to hurry so he could leave, the night air was surprisingly cool as it flickered through the cracks of ancient windows. Perhaps it was due to the lateness, or the general solitude of the bookshelves, but I soon found myself at peace. The atmosphere was calming.

_Not really much of a punishment_, I thought. Save for the late hour at which I was expected to complete my task, there was nothing which struck me as even remotely torturous about my predicament. Perhaps that was why I had received so many detentions at once? Surely I could not have offended a grown man so much by my – in my opinion – rather tame antics? I risked a glance towards the man in question, studying his face. Then again, he did seem like a rather grim man. Perhaps he was really quite sensitive? Godric certainly seemed to become extra defensive whenever it was mentioned he shared control with three women...

In any case, the punishments in this Hogwarts, whilst being somewhat arduous (and redundant), appeared to be a great deal kinder to those who overstepped their boundaries than the ones to which I was accustomed. I was not entirely opposed to this change. The torture with which Godric and Helga had often brought upon the general populace of the school was awe-worthy. Rowena and I often found ourselves pulling the pair apart, lest their concocting bring the walls down upon us all. That being said, hardly anyone stepped out of line with them around. Most were too fearful for their mortal souls. Not that I was a saint, but I often tried to reprimand pupils in ways that would lead to them remaining alive afterward.

Shaking my head a little, I grasped for a large tome with the lettering on its spine scratched out. Being slightly above my reach, I found myself hopping a few times before being able to grasp it -

_Hello?_ a voice called.

- before promptly dropping the particularly ample book onto the ground before me. Startled, I jumped back.

"_Miss Smith_, please refrain from such clumsiness in my presence," Droned an unimpressed voice from behind me. I turned to the Professor as he continued, voice oozing disdain, "You are here to clean this section of the library, _not_ destroy the books."

Ignoring his snippy manner, I peered around the monumental room, squinting into the darkness. There was no one to be seen, yet I could swear the voice I had heard was not of my professor.

_Odd..._

Deciding the lateness of the hour had began tricking me, I busied myself retrieving the fallen tome, sneezing as dust billowed across my face.

_On my House, has this place never been cleaned! _I found myself thinking, as I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

For the next few hours, things continued on as they had before. I wiped the covers of dust; cleaned the shelves, before placing the books back in order. Eventually, gentle snores filled the air behind me, and I turned to find the grumpy Defense professor asleep, a gentle expression having overtaken what I could only assume was his day-scowl.

_All the better for me. How much longer could I have kept up this meek and repentant act?_ I pondered.

Sighing, I continued on with my dull work. Most of the books before me were badly damaged, or else obsolete. I assumed their only real purpose was to fill the shelves. Once, I even found one of my own texts – a thin, worn journal intimately detailing the structure of the castle, along with every ward placed upon it, and all its potential defensive weaknesses. Deciding it did not belong along with the other unused antiques in this section – for its subject matter and personal value both – I tucked the abused relic deep within the folds of my robe.

_Do you need any help? _This time the voice came from behind me, and I froze. It sounded oddly detached, but it was familiar.

_I don't see why you're even asking. You know they can't hear us_, a distinctly male voice chastised

_It doesn't hurt to ask!_ Replied the owner of the first voice, audibly indignant, _Besides, she's stealing from the Library!_

_And what can we do to stop her? _The other voice echoed, despondent. I could swear they sounded familiar; if only the voices did not hang so distorted in the air.

Intrigued, I went back to my work, listening. The second voice, the manly one, continued, _It's not as if we can touch anything._

_Ghosts? _I thought, _Why don't they think I can hear them? They are speaking clear as day..._

Still, I refrained from turning towards the conversationalists. They seemed to be quite open with their opinions, assuming I was deaf to them.

_And even if we could, why should we? _the speaker questioned, _'Tis only a book._

_A dangerous book!_ The first voice contradicted, _One that could be used as our downfall!_

The man scoffed, _By a little girl? What's she going to do, shapeshift into the Dark Lord?_

_That's what the last one did, if you remember!_

Angered as I was by the 'little girl' comment, the mention of a dark lord intrigued me. In my time, the closest we'd had to a dark enemy was Mordred le Fay, who, coincidentally, had met his downfall several years prior to my birth. Assuming such a figure existed now, what reason would they have to attack a mere school? The school's population had broadened since its opening, certainly, but it was still no thriving metropolis of young minds. Surely, it was too insignificant to wish to attack, and also too well guarded against the outer world?

_Don't be ridiculous, _I heard the man say, his voice seeming to grow further away, _She's old enough to have been here for several years, and has not managed to raise our suspicions thus far. Come, let us go to rest._

The owner of the first voice sighed, _As you wish..._ evidently following their companion out the Library, and down the corridor.

Releasing a breath I had not known myself to be holding, I once more began to ponder the phantoms' words. Straightforward as they were, I felt as if I was missing something. I loathed missing things. Resolving to investigate the matter of this so-called 'Dark Lord' at a later date, I hurriedly completed my assigned work.

Once finished, I sneaked a look at my professor's watch as he dozed – something I had quickly learned from observation of my new peers, although I still hadn't the foggiest idea what the Headmaster's used to track time. The illuminated metallic surface peered back at me uneasily, the numbers flickering light to dull, and back again. I squinted. 02:37am.

_I wasted a whole night on this! _I was shocked. This new way of punishment was more effective than I had thought it to be – there was no way I was ever displeasing Professor Snape again! Starting right now.

I began searching my bag for a quill and a pot of ink. Quick to find what I was searching for, I pulled the journal back out from beneath my robes. I flipped to the back of the book, and, carefully, I ripped out a blank page. After glancing over my shoulder to ensure I had not woken the professor with the noise, I began to write on the parchment. Once satisfied with my handiwork, I packed my things and walked out of the darkened Library, sparing only a last single glance for the man behind me.

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_I hope you find the work I have done thus far to be of a satisfactory level. I apologise for my inattention in your class (which I am certain was very important). I did not mean to appear so rude to you on my first day as a student. I also apologise for not waking you before I leave, however it is currently very late and I'm afraid it would leave you very tired in the morning if I did._

_Regards,_

_S.S. _

* * *

"Harry, who is the Dark Lord?"

I was met by several astounded stares.

_So much for a direct approach._

Deciding that I had perhaps been misunderstood, I found myself asking again, "Harry, who is the Dark Lord?"

"Are you nutters?" the astonished voice of Ronald Weasley replied. Looking over at him, I was surprised he had managed lifting his head from his breakfast. Although, I noticed some egg was still clinging to him. I sniffed.

"What kind of question is that?" I asked, offended.

"What kind of question is 'who is the Dark Lord, Harry?'" he retorted, "Are you trying to be funny?"

The redhead sounded angry, I noted.

_Perhaps I belong in Gryffindor. How many people am I going to unwittingly offend, here?_

"I am being entirely serious, Ron," I explained, "I haven't been in the country for many years. Things have...changed," I uttered, completely truthful. I could see that Harry was understanding of my predicament.

"Don't call him the Dark Lord – he'd like that. Call him Voldemort," the boy's voice was dark. Ron shuddered beside me.

"You don't really like him, do you?" I ask. Harry looked at me, anger flashing in his eyes.

"He killed my parents," he spat out.

"Oh."

That wasn't what I was expecting...

The three of us sat in silence for a while, contemplating our thoughts.

"Hey guys! What's going on?" Hermione questioned as she sat down beside Harry, "You look like someone died."

I smiled, "I was just asking about Voldemort," I state. Instantly, the girl looks as if she's going to tell me off, but Ron interrupts.

"She didn't know who he was," he says, bits of toast falling out of his mouth in awe. The girl's gaze turns curious.

"You didn't know?" she repeats, "Were you raised with muggles?"

I barely contain my scowl.

"No," I reply, "It's just, I haven't been around for a while. There are a lot of things going on I don't know about."

"Yeah, well, You-Know-Who is bad news, so it's best you asked," Ron contributes.

_You-Know-Who? _I think,_ Just how many names does this man have?_

Hermione frowns.

"Don't call him that, Ron," she corrects, "his name is Voldemort."

"No," Harry replies darkly, "His name is Tom."

I watch the exchange with interest.

"So, just who is he?" I ask, "Besides very indecisive about his name?"

Hermione is about to answer, when a glittering, beetle-eyed teacher passes by. She waits until the woman leaves, before leaning forwards conspiratorially.

"Lord Voldemort was actually a student here about fifty years ago. His name's really Tom Riddle," she says, and I nod along, "Anyway, from what we know, he first started killing when he was still attending Hogwarts. He killed another student – a young girl – in his fifth year."

"That's terrible!" I say.

Harry and Ron nod along.

"Yeah," Ron says, "'Course, he never got caught for it, did he? Blamed it on Hagrid and got him expelled."

"Who's Ha-?" I begin.

"The Groundskeeper, and Professor of Care of Magical Creature's," Hermione continues, "Even when he was found guilty, Dumbledore wouldn't let the school board send him away, so he stayed on to tend the school."

"Dumbledore didn't trust Riddle," Harry supplied, "He had always been very manipulative."

I frowned.

"So, how did he convince everyone that Hagrid had killed this girl?" I question, "Did he just beat her to death, or...?"

Hermione shook her head, "No, you see, Hagrid has a soft spot for...potentially unsavoury creatures."

My eyebrow quirks.

"Like Professor Snape?" I ask. The trio stifle their laughs.

"No," Harry replies, "More like giant spiders."

I swear I can feel Ron shudder at this. The boy continues.

"Only, Hagrid's spider was a baby back then – not venomous enough to paralyse a human for a few hours, much less kill them."

"So what happened to the girl?" I ask. The trio glance at each other, before leaning into the table even further.

"A basilisk," Hermione supplies.

_Oh, you are not... _

"A...um, a-a basilisk, you say?" I find myself spluttering, "Where'd he get a basilisk?" I ask, although I already have a pretty good idea. Once more, Hermione answers for me.

"Well, you see, there's this secret chamber hidden underneath the school,"she began.

_Yes, I know._

I had actually been thinking of visiting Ouroboros later in the day, until now. I briefly wonder if my pet misses me.

"But you can only access it by speaking Parseltongue-"

_Yes, I know._

"-and you could only control the basilisk by being the Heir of Slytherin-"

_...What? I don't remember that... _

"Tom Riddle," she concludes, "is the Heir of Slytherin."

"Well," I state, "That explains a lot."

_And I had thought I'd gotten away from the crazy ones._

* * *

**A/N: All I can say is, "You're a wordy little bugger, aren't you, Lucy?" In other words, sorry for the at-times overly-extensive descriptiveness. My editing button is kind of stuck on off-mode tonight. Because it's 4:23am, and my copy of word still needs repairing! Anyway, I hope you still managed to enjoy reading this, because for all its flaws, I enjoyed writing it! **

_**Much Love,**_

_**Lucy~!**_


	5. In WhichGhosts and the House War Feature

**A/N: Thank you so much for the continued support on this endeavor, guys, and Moi, I've left a reply to your review at the end of this chapter! :)**

**(P.S. I know you're sick of me saying it, but I apologise for any mistakes. I need bed, and I need to stop writing in the wee hours! :P)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Previously:_

_"Tom Riddle," she concludes, "is the Heir of Slytherin."_

_"Well," I state, "That explains a lot."_

**_And I had thought I'd gotten away from the crazy ones._**

* * *

For the rest of the day, I found myself mulling over my House-mates' words. I could only imagine how distraught poor Boros must have felt; being tricked into killing a little girl. What struck me as odd, however, was that Hermione had made it sound as if he had been doing this...Tom person's bidding out of his own free will.

_My heir..._ I thought.

But was he really? I had never specified that a Slytherin must open the Chamber - in fact, there were many entrances leading into that particular section of the school; only one to which parseltongue was considered a prerequisite. I had also most certainly never given Boros the impression that he must follow any of my kin's orders, should I become unreachable. The very idea made me snort. Oroboros, following orders! One would have more luck convincing Gyffindor that _phallus amplio_ was a real charm. And he was our Charms tutor!

A niggling voice at the back of my head interrupted with its own thoughts.

_A thousand years can change one's perspective..._

This was true, I conceded. Perhaps my absence had left the snake bitter. There was no one who could properly explain to him what had happened to me – none of my fellows knew. And once they, too, were gone, perhaps he had become desperate for affection of any kind? Even if it meant...

No, my boy was far too wise to be beguiled into doing another's bidding, of that I was sure. However, this realisation left me with more questions than answers. The most prominent of which being, what had Riddle hoped to achieve by controlling my snake? And how had he managed to do so?

_I need answers!_ I screamed, frustrated beyond belief.

"Are you alright?"

The voice came from beside me, low and anxious. Glancing aside, I saw the reoccurring frizz that I was beginning to associate with friendship. I smiled, whispering back, "I am content enough. Why do you ask?"

Hermione frowned at me.

"Because you just snapped your quill in half and threw it through our Professor."

I blanched.

_Why must I always withdraw so deeply into thought?!_

"I did?" I asked. The girl's brow creased further.

"Yes," she said, "Are you sur-"

"Yes, yes," I replied hastily, "I think I just – did you say _through_ the Professor?" I questioned.

Perhaps I was not the one to blame here. Perhaps the girl's excessive level of professionalism had driven her to hallucinate? However, it was she who now looked worried for my health.

Sensing I had made a faux pas of some kind, I found myself blushing. I looked around the classroom, for the first time truly taking in my surroundings. Bored students were seated lazily around me, limbs splayed out, and chatting amongst themselves. Most did not even have the respect to pretend they were paying attention to what I was sure was an excellent lecture.

Several were also giggling, staring in my direction. I frowned.

_Insubordination... Why isn't the tutor...?_

I looked straight to the head of the classroom, to where an elderly little man was spouting out details of some far-distant event, in monotone... Something about baene sidhes?

_He certainly isn't working to make it interesting,_ I thought, squinting. Something about the man, something in his movements wasn't quite right. Perhaps it was due to his unexcited appearance? He looked rather despondent for someone detailing the frivolities of nymphs, in my opinion.

_That silver sheen is certainly doing him no favours- _

_...he's a ghost._

I felt like banging my head against my desk in exasperation. It was no wonder Hermione had appeared troubled by my words. I could simply not go on missing details such as this. If I intended to ever return home, I needed all my wits about me. No more wallowing in the could-bes! Besides, my behaviour was like to raise suspicion among some. And in what I was beginning to believe was a volatile time, that was dangerous.

_At least this time I can pass my actions off as boredom..._

Beside me, Hermione was still awaiting my reply.

"Sorry," I grinned, "This class is a bit dragging. I lost my patience."

Still seeming troubled, the girl nodded.

"It can seem that way," she agreed quietly, "but it's still an important class. You should pay attention," she chastised.

_I should... _I agreed, although my pride was somewhat smarting from being told off by a youth, _and from now on I will._

* * *

Despite my own advice, by Thursday I found myself consumed once more by my own dismal situation. I was thoroughly sick of cleaning out the Library, I was as of yet to find the time to visit Oroboros, and my patience was wearing thin.

From Harry, I had managed to extract more modern facts relating to the 'Chamber of Secrets'. For one, everyone knew about the entrance in the girls' latrine (there also happened to be a very irritating ghost, aptly named Moaning Myrtle, guarding the restroom - something I had, unfortunately, found out for myself). For another, that passage led to the lair of the evil enchanter himself, Salazar Slytherin. Thirdly, I was a man. _An old man_. With a passion for slaughtering muggle-borns - _and sacrificing virgins to feisty satyrs, probably_. If only Godric was here now! I am actually of the sneaking suspicion that it is entirely his fault in regards to my 'gender change'. He was always telling me to start acting like a lady, or he'd treat me like a man.

_I would have liked to see him try..._ _They gave me a _beard_! Do they think I'm some hairy ox?!_

Returning my thoughts to my current dilemma, I cried out in frustration. If only the Chamber had remained hidden as it had so in the past! Then I could visit my _child_ without arousing suspicions of being some dark monster. Instead, I was forced to act oblivious as to the Chamber's true purpose, unaware of my Boros slithering around alone, hated by all. I could have asked one of my House-mates what they knew of the basilisk's condition, but what would that do? Arouse more suspicion? I was already being tiptoed around by half the student body due to my unfortunately timed arrival. Merlin only knows how much I needed to be linked to a 'bloodthirsty killer'!

I scowled. Just what had history turned us into? Boros was a _water-dwelling_ creature. He needed space to roam – somewhere his eyes would cause no harm.

_It was a water purification chamber, for Merlin's sake! All the Heads had access to it! _

If I possessed Godric's strength, or Rowena's talent for rhyme, or even Helga's unyielding faith, then I could have easily used one of their entrances. But as it was, I could not open steel vaults with my bare hands; I was not particularly adept in riddles, and I was more likely to plunge to a cold and stony death, than be carried lightly down to the chamber by a dancing breeze. Tempting fate was not my specialty. I was the sensible one; the analytical one, always questioning a person's motives. And I had to. I had to be the one who disbelieved in silly things like fate and human compassion and selfless acts, even when I truly _did_ believe in them. It had so far been the key to my survival, and as much as I despised it, it was a habit I found hard to break. Even for my poor Boros. As it often did, my own cowardice disgusted me.

* * *

It was in this spirit that I traipsed into the Great Hall for breakfast that morning, ultimately setting myself up for more trouble. Sliding into my now-regular seat (which, I had noted, was much less luxurious than my padded Head's chair had been), I quickly began scarfing down whatever food came within my eye-line. Ron had the right idea. It was eat, or be eaten. I chose to eat.

Halfway through my second sausage, a voice interrupted my vendetta.

"Miss Smith," the voice drawled from behind me, its owner uncomfortably close.

_Probably trying to intimidate me_, I thought sourly, chewing harder.

"Yes?" I snapped, not even attempting to correct my mood before speaking. As I turned, I could see my brisk manner was not appreciated.

_You can deal with it_, I demanded internally, _You're half my problems._

The Professor bared his teeth at me.

"Yes, _Sir_," he corrected. At this, I felt Harry stifle a laugh beside me.

_I'll have to ask about that later..._ I thought, assuming there was a joke behind the phrase. However, I replied, as ever, with my trademark diplomacy.

"What is it, _sir_?" I mimicked. I knew I should at least try to show some respect, but the man managed to thoroughly annoy me every time we came within glaring distance of each other.

_I wish he slept more often, _I remembered my first detention, _'Twould be harder for me to morally justify offing someone in their sleep._

The Professor continued to bare his teeth menacingly as he said, "I have come to inform you that you will be serving your next four detentions in the care of Professor Slughorn."

_Oh, you really don't like me, either..._

Professor Slughorn was, to put lightly, a very rotund man – in both his body shape, and his manner. He was quite happy to roll on about past students, glorifying their slightest achievements, before tempting you to join his Slug Club. The Slug Club, itself, was an elitist group specially designed by said man so he would be able to link himself to future influential magicians, and in turn, link them to new members of the Club. And in such a way, he had turned an admirable idea into a self-glorifying process. Unfortunately for me, I was his latest target; my aptitude for potion-making apparently exceeding normal expectations. I could already feel myself cursing Helga for her tutelage in the art. For Slughorn to leave me be, I should have spared myself the trouble.

My thoughts must have shown on my face, for the Professor soon raised a brow, asking, "Problem, Miss Smith?"

My eyes narrowed. It had come to my notice that he was very fond of goading students.

_Perhaps he would appreciate some goading in return? _

"May I ask why?" I responded.

The man clenched his jaw at my query, obviously not truly caring to explain.

"Mr. Filch," he ground out, "currently has other duties to tend to. As such, he cannot supervise you at this time."

I nodded in acknowledgement, but still I asked, "Then why don't you?"

The Professor's face burned red, and I worked to contain my laughter. I couldn't help it. He was like a cat responding to bait.

"Because, _Miss Smith_, I too have other duties to tend to. Ones which are far more important than watching over misbehaving students," he clarified, "Do you have any other questions?"

I shook my head, "No."

"Good."

But as he swirled to walk away, I added, "I just hope Professor Slughorn doesn't find this task so _petty_ that he falls asleep whilst doing it."

The response was instantaneous. Professor Snape swung around to face me, hissing, "Twenty points from Gryffindor!"

Around me, there were groans. Those who hadn't been paying attention before, had lifted their heads at the familiar words.

"What for?!" Ron called, looking particularly indignant with sauce dribbling down his chin. Putting his hands on the table, the Professor leaned close toward the boy.

"For lack of respect," he snapped, before stalking his way back up to the Head Table. Ron looked at me, and said, "See? Complete prick."

Still watching the antagonistic Professor's back, I grinned.

_I could show him disrespect._

"You've got that right," I agreed, before thinking, _Fifty points from Slytherin for being unnecessarily rude to a Founder._

Pausing, I added, _And one hundred to Gryffindor for owning my presence. _

No one noticed the shifting sands of the hourglasses. Not immediately, anyway.

* * *

**A/N: Next Chapter - stuff happens!**

**To Moi:**

_Moi, thank you so much for your review. You have no idea how happy it makes me that you took the time out of your day to give such in-depth feedback on this story. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. :)_

_I am extremely tempted to reply to many of the points you brought up. However, I'm attempting to keep this spoiler free (a great task for such a blabbermouth, I assure you). One thing I can say, however, is that when I wrote the last chapter off (now separated into three chapters due to length), the point of Salazar's wand had been brought up. I admit that the story has been a bit confusing (although I've gone for the 'intriguing' sales pitch, really :P) at times. I didn't think it'd make much of a story if everybody knew everything straight away. However, many things will come to light in later chapters._

_And if they don't, well...I have a second version of this story going on in my head (which is actually the master story. It's a great deal more cohesive, but also lengthy, with many flashbacks) that I have considered writing/posting as an alternate version of this tale (in the event that this version does not end up detailing everything of the other version). As I have mentioned before, I'm writing this version first to see how quickly I can get through a novel-length story, and how well it will turn out. Please don't let this discourage you, however. I wouldn't dream of sacrificing the characterisation or plot for a quick ending, and the story in my head probably seems more fleshed out because it is finished. :)_

_(P.S. I'm particularly gleeful that you mentioned the part about the Founders valuing the traits of their Houses, but not necessarily possessing these traits themselves. An almost spot on assumption. Well done!)_

**Lucy~!**


	6. Saturday With The Mirror

**A/N: First of all, I'd like to apologise for any formatting issues (I'm not even going to go there). Second, my data limit is too pathetic to live. Thirdly, I'm getting all kinds of mixed signals here with spelling. I obviously know the difference between British (mine), and American spelling, but what the flying broomsticks is going on with some of these other words? In one program they're spelled right, and in another, they're not! GAH!**

**And, finally, Moi...I replied to you. It's at the end.**

* * *

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Previously:_

_No one noticed the shifting sands of the hourglasses. Not immediately, anyway._

* * *

The first weekend of term came to me as a welcome relief, bringing with it a well-needed release from duty. Not only were there to be no classes, but it seemed that Professor Slughorn was loathe to hold detentions on days off. This was as much for his own benefit as for that of his students, I was sure, but did not stop my opinion of him from increasing several-fold. I almost felt like hugging him for his generosity, in my gladness. Most of all, this favourable turn in the week finally allowed for me to do some much needed exploring.

First on my agenda was to retrieve my staff, which I was sure would still be in my chambers, leaning against the bed, as I had left it. Made of my own will and power, it was extremely important to me, not alone for the fact that it was the only artifact that could actually _amplify_ my magical abilities, should the need arise. Assuming I was to return home one day, I was convinced of its necessity. Though, that was not my only reason for wanting it back. I was loathe to admit, but I did not feel truly protected without it pressed against my skin. It was a safeguard.

Next, I would need to find a better wand, by which I meant, I would _actually_ have to find a wand (or something passable as one), somewhere around the castle. So far I had gotten away with borrowing the wands of my classmates during their spare sessions. However, this could not go on forever, and not just because I was not one to readily rely on others. If I continued to use my companions' wands, they would soon be rendered unusable. I had for so long been accustomed to siphoning my power directly through my own body that it was impossible or me to lower the power of my magic beyond a certain point. Returning to the use of toys, I found them brittle, pathetic things, not capable of handling magic of any true focus. Already, I had felt the core of Hermione's wand begin to burn out under the strain of my power. I could not be the cause for her to replace it. Not only would that likely cause suspicion to form in the astute girl's mind, but I felt it would have been a betrayal of trust on my behalf. I did not betray my friends, even if I was prone to deceiving them.

Finally, I had decided to visit the Purification Chamber today, if I had to kill a ghost to do so. The knowledge of Oroboros' supposed murderous tendencies greatly disturbed me. I had to assure his safety with my own eyes. Certainly, slipping past the notice of that dratted mournful ghost was sure to be a hard task, but this was something that had to be done. My sanity relied upon it.

With these tasks in mind, I made my way down to the dungeons, slinking past the Great Hall as I went. Breakfast could wait today, and I was not looking to get caught dancing around someone else's quarters, assuming anyone had managed to take up residence there. My companions – all four of us – had built our personal quarters with solitude in mind. We had each needed our individual space to do as we wished, and as such, they were all guarded beyond belief. Or so they had been the last time I had access to my personal chambers. One thing I had noticed over the past week – despite many of the wards having survived the years, some of the school's defenses had begun to sport tears, with many charms having dissolved altogether. In fact, the only reasoning with which I could assume the preservation charm had survived perfectly in tact, was due to my own survival. I shuddered to think of the state these halls would be in should I have never slipped on Godric's runes.

Perhaps a more pressing matter was how the damaged wards had been left without attempts at repair. Was the safety of the castle and all those who lived in it not priority enough? Or had everyone become blind to their existence? For all that magery had progressed in the years I had missed, it had regressed equally. Now stalking through the cool, dark castle underground, I found myself shaking my head. How had such important knowledge become obsolete?

* * *

Luckily, I managed to avoid the breakfast rush in the dungeons, and soon found myself facing the entrance to my old quarters, without any trouble. The wall before me was made of blank stone, simple as the others. However, I was able to amend this by raising my hand as far as I could up the damp wall. A door slowly appeared as I did so. I snickered. It had never failed to amuse me how simple my wards were, yet unexpected. I suppose that anyone determined enough to interrupt my experimenting would be quite capable of disabling the spell disguising my chambers, but it wasn't as if any of my students would dare to ever be that brash. It was all mainly to get me some peace from Gryffindor, anyway. I knew it drove him crazy to not know where I hid myself away.

_Serves him right for calling me short... He'd never guess that my height was the key._

Another thought suddenly sent me giggling.

_This is my _real_ Chamber of Secrets!_

After calming myself, I held my ear to the newly-formed door. I could neither hear nor sense movement in the room beyond.

_Good._

However, when I went to turn the handle, I found myself receiving a shock. Literally. Jumping back from the handle, I scowled.

_I didn't put that there!_ I thought.

I was downright offended.

_How rude! How dare anyone jinx my door to-to hex me! _

I quickly decided that whoever had added the spell to my quarters was going to regret it. This was my sanctuary we were discussing, not the Gryffindor common room! Revenge was most definitely in order.

Despite the stinging in my hand and upon my pride, I took a careful step back, expertly surveying every inch of the door frame. I had noticed that when I had turned the handle, the door had indeed been unlocked. In fact, the only thing stopping me from opening the thing was the fear of a little pain. And, I decided, that wasn't stopping me at all.

_Whoever set that hex must have been overconfident in their ability to instil fear, or a fool. Probably both._

Carefully, I reached out towards the door handle again. I paused for a mere second, fingers splayed out in front of the brass knob. Foolish spell or not, I was not looking forward to being stung again. I braced myself for the pain, before grabbing the handle. Once more, I was hit with a shock, but one swift turn and it was over. I practically jumped through the threshold, slamming the door behind me. Awarding it my gaze one last time, I glowered.

_Traitor... _

As I turned back to face the room around me, I was a little surprised to see someone's bed.

_Who put...?_

I shook my head. I had forgotten for a moment that this was no longer my quarters. The thought dampened my mood somewhat. Still, if the new occupant was using a test chamber as a bedroom, then that meant that they had probably not found my own to sleep in.

_Small relief_, I thought, eyeing the dark room. Aside from the (relatively small) bed, and a rickety-looking old dresser, the room was bare of furniture, and dimly lit. The floor, however, was scattered all over with various objects – broken quills, used cutlery, and numerous scrolls filled a vast portion of the room's surface. Not to mention, it was dusty, and smelt of some sickening concoction I could not quite put my finger on. Nothing like I would have kept it. As the architect, I found myself righteously miffed.

_They could at least have kept it clean. I thought we had house elves here? _I thought angrily.

Unable to feel the necessary amount of disgust towards the sorry state of my room right now, I tiptoed over to the far right-hand side of the room, and placed my hands upon one of the smoothed stones. That, at least, felt relatively clean. I wouldn't have been very happy about my next actions if it was otherwise.

Raising myself up to meet the wall, I gave the polished rock a quick brush of my lips. Instantly, a doorway shimmered into sight. This time when I reached to pull on the handle, there was no sting. I smiled. No one had warded this part of my sanctuary, which probably meant that no one had ever seen it. Feeling particularly gleeful, I turned the handle and rushed through the doorway, this time out of happiness. It felt like a lifetime ago that I had last been in my chamber. Looking around, I grinned.

Until I noticed the broken quills, upturned ink bottles, and numerous scrolls covering the floor.

A part of my brain screamed _Hypocrite!_ at me, even as I fell onto the bed in resignation. So I wasn't usually the cleanliest of people. I'd like to see anyone be organised when they were forced to teach four different classes a day – not all of which they were particularly adept at! I wrinkled my nose, recalling a particular Herbology session where I'd knocked out Godric with a baby mandrake. Magical plants never were a great passion of mine. Not unless they were dead and ready to be peeled, chopped, and stewed. I wouldn't even tolerate dealing with them then, had Helga not absolutely insisted upon Potions lessons. Fortunately, I had listened to her. It was now one of my favourite hobbies.

Recalling my reason for being here in the first place, I rolled on my side, searching for my staff. It stood, radiating white in the dark, at the foot of my bed. Right where I left it. I released a sigh.

_Thank goodness. _

But that didn't explain why my room appeared to not have been touched in nearly one thousand years. The house elves insisted upon cleaning up once a week – often more, in my case. Yet, here I was, surrounded by the same things I had been just last Sunday – the sleek bookcase filled to the brim with even-then ancient texts; the scratched dresser from my childhood (I smiled at that. It had taken much effort on Godric's behalf to steal it from my parents manor while they were out feasting), even the same velvet canopy hung above my head. And the mess on the floor!

Had they simply given up when I didn't come back that night? Or had my companions told them to leave this place be? Suddenly, I found myself nursing the urge to do something else. Anything else. I did not like the idea of my quarters becoming some sort of hidden tomb. I felt suffocated.

_Is that what this is? _I questioned, _A memorial?_

I pushed the thought from my head. That was neither here nor there. Reluctantly raising myself from my comfortable bed (it really was beyond sinful), I reached out for the staff.

Once in my hands, I could see the familiar handiwork of my magic's doing. The cane itself was of a fairly simple design – white, with two emerald-eyed serpents twined into one. It was pretty enough, if one cared for that sort of thing. Many didn't. Not that their opinions meant much to me, either. The staff was priceless, because it was mine.

I felt myself hugging the snakes to me, my heart rate slowing to a gentle thrum. I knew what was to come next. Having been made from my magic, the staff was a part of me. That meant, of course, that when it was not in use it could always be carried with me – on my skin. I rolled up my sleeves.

Slowly, I could feel the the serpents slither apart, each one wrapping itself up one of my arms, each crawling higher and higher. As they climbed, their bodies latched onto my skin, melding into it until they were mere markings. Body runes. I had not seen any similar magic here, yet, although it was hard to tell with students being confined to their robes all day long. Then again, this type of magery had always tended to be a rare occurrence. I meant no offence when I said I doubted that anyone here held the power or the knowledge to mark themselves. Not to mention that of the hundreds of uses for such complex runes, most were dark.

I groaned. I would now have to hide my arms from view. I had been prepared for that coming down here, but then, I had lived that way for most of my life. That still did not mean I would not miss wearing short sleeves. At least my robes-

_Oh, I almost forgot!_

Jumping to my feet, I whipped a hand into my robe pocket. I grasped roughly around for the object of my desire. For a few moments, my efforts appeared to be in vain. However-

_There you are! _I thought triumphantly, as I finally pulled the book from its hiding place, _Best to conceal you now. _

I quickly stepped over to the bookshelf, and plopped the journal I had found in the library between _Seldom-Used Spells_, and a worn romance novel entitled _I Found You Enchanting_ - admittedly, something I have read far too many times to comfortably acknowledge. Supposing that this was probably a safer place than any other, I then diverted my attention to clearing the room of its mess. It wasn't something I had anticipated in coming here, and I hadn't much time. Although guessing the hour from the window was a useless pursuit, it being encompassed by thick water – I could tell that the day was now getting on, and I'd hate to be caught in someone's room on my way out the door.

Keeping this in mind, I got moving. With a flick of my hand, all the scrolls and books went to right themselves. I may not be coming back to this room any time soon, but that was no reason to leave it in a mess. I placed the quills in a neat little row on the dresser, and cleaned the carpet of the spilled ink. I then went to work on washing my dresser mirror of stains.

Taking a step back, I acknowledged that I was content with my work, and left the room.

Immediately, I found myself wishing I could clean the surfaces of the other, newer bedroom as well, but I kept my urges in check.

_If they can't clean it themselves, they can live with it! _The thought came to me vehemently, as I scrutinised the room, _I need to find a wand!_

As if answering my silent call, I suddenly noticed a glass pot containing several such objects on the miserly dresser. Glancing around, it took mere moments for me to decide what to do.

_It can't hurt to look.._. I rationalised.

I closed in on the dresser, treating it as if it was a trap. Surely no one could have need of that many wands? I hadn't seen them when I'd entered the room the first time. Then again, I hadn't been looking...

I stiffened a few inches from the dresser. Had the occupant seen me enter their room, and laid down bait? But how would they know what I was after? Perhaps I was over-analysing things...?

"Oh dearie, stop that frowning. It'll give you wrinkles."

I jumped back, squashing a scroll as I did so. I hastened to straighten it out, glancing around the room nervously. Where had that voice come from?

"What's the matter dearie? You look a little pale."

The same voice again. I stiffened.

"Where are you?" I asked. This sent the motherly little voice into hysterics.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm right behind you," it replied, amused. Slowly, I turned back to face the dresser. There was no one there, unless...

"A-are you the mirror?" I question. Still chuckling, the voice replies, "Yes, darling. But you can call me whatever you call yourself."

"Why?" I ask, puzzled. The voice laughs again, "Because I reflect you!"

"But you're not me?" I asked, assuring myself I had not, in fact, gone mad, "You don't know what I'm thinking. You're just a mirror, aren't you?"

"Well, of course I am!" the mirror replied cheerfully, "But that doesn't mean you should keep frowning. I was serious about the wrinkles, you know."

Perhaps it is because I find it odd, talking to a mirror, but I find myself instantly correcting my features.

"Sorry," I say. The mirror replies with a good-natured sigh, "Oh, that's alright dear. I'm always telling the other one the same, except he doesn't listen!"

"What other one?" I ask.

"You're doing it again dear," the mirror chastises. I blink, uncomprehending.

"Frowning," it supplies gently.

"Oh, sorry," I say again, as I force myself to stop, before repeating, "What other one?"

"The one who sleeps here!" it replies, "He never takes my advice, and he gets dirt all over me! I could just-! Ooh!"

From the sounds of it, I gather that the mirror and the owner of this chamber do not get along well. But perhaps if I know who owns the wands...

"Who sleeps here?" I ask.

"The tall one!"

_Helpful..._

"No," I correct, "but who are they?"

"I already told you; the tall one. I'm so glad you came. You're much nicer than he is, and you look so _clean_. You're very pretty," it rushes. I almost sigh, but I need to know who owns those wands.

"The tall one, does he have a name?" I question.

"Oh, yes!" it replies. I await an answer, but none comes.

_This is a very straightforward mirror..._ I think.

"What is it?" I ask.

"What is what?" the mirror sounds confused.

"His name?" I ask. When it replies, the mirror still sounds confused.

"Whose name?"

I roll my eyes.

"The tall one," I say.

"Oh, that's easy!" the mirror pipes, "It's Severus!"

_What in the freak kind of name is Severus?_

Having gotten nowhere, this time I do sigh.

"This Severus," I ask, risking a glance at the bottle of wands, "does he have a last name?"

"Yes, of course!" the mirror chimes.

"What is it?" I ask politely.

"I don't know!" it replies, sounding positively gleeful. I look at it in awe.

"You...don't know?" I repeat, disbelieving.

"No. Oh, I know what you need! Some nice eye liner," it continues merrily.

"Some...what?" I ask, "Actually, never mind."

_This room obviously belongs to a teacher, and if the mirror doesn't know their full name...it must be Slughorn,_ I conclude, recalling my first Potions lesson, _Severus Slughorn..._

Something about the name just doesn't sit right with me.

_Who am I to complain? I didn't birth him. _

I try to get back onto the subject at hand.

"Severus," I say, pointing at the jar, "Does he use those wands often? Did he confiscate them from students?"

The mirror actually shudders at this.

"I would leave those alone if I were you, sweetheart," it says.

_Curious..._

"Why?" I ask.

I get no response.

_Guess I have no choice then..._

Carefully, I breeze my hand over the jar. No curses.

_At least none I can detect..._

I continue to inspect them with my eyes. They appear to be regular wands, slightly worn; harmless enough. No reason for such a terrified reaction, especially from a piece of glass.

_If I die from this..._

Taking the risk, I pick one up, and instantly realise why the mirror had warned me about them – they're coated in dark magic. They must have all been destroyed by overuse of black magic.

_Or at least this one was. _

My suspicions are confirmed after handling all the wands. Besides all sharing the same vague characteristics - they're all fairly long, perfectly sleek, and of a dark, ashy-black colouring - the cores appear to have all been destroyed. This is evident in none more so than what I guess is the eldest, where it looks as though the core was literally ripped from the insides by sloppy magery, and all bear the same magical signature.

_Which,_ I admit, _is surprisingly strong_. _Perhaps I underestimated you, Professor..._

I wonder why Professor Slughorn does not simply give up using wands altogether. I am certain that with a little practice, he could manage without one.

I shake my head.

_That is none of my concern._

I quickly pocket the eldest wand – the one to which darkness clings the least – and resolve to repair it later. Out of all the artifacts, this one appears to be my safest bet for a decoy. Where the others still have dormant cores that would most likely wreak havoc when combined with my own magical signature, this one is completely void of life. If I repair the tears in the wood, I can at least make it _look_ like I am channeling my magic through the thing.

Deciding that this is the best possible course of action for now, I hastily re-enter the dungeon, glancing back and forth to assure my solitude, before rushing off towards the first floor. The day is growing late, and I have yet to meet with Oroboros.

* * *

**A/N: I hope that wasn't too garbled (and I know her saying "what the freak" is probably a bit OOC, but I _liked_ it). Now, on to the reply! (This is going to be long – and possibly **_**spoilerish**_** – so if you don't feel like that, feel free to turn away... I SAID TURN AWAY, DAMMIT! I kid. I love you. You all **_**rock**_**.)**

To Moi,

_I honestly make it my policy to reply to all my reviewers (if not usually with so much depth), because I'm honoured that anyone would take the time to post their opinion on my story. This doesn't just go for good reviews, of course, although you may have noticed an anonymous review I have chosen to ignore. I have done this for one reason only – it is not a critique, it is an uninformative sentence that I am sure was designed primarily to offend. It did not. I actually laughed and showed it off to my two best friends (I'm a bit odd like that). However, in devoting an entire A/N strictly to such a reply, I would only be reinforcing bad behaviour, and appear immature myself. If there is one thing I cannot say enough, it is that an uninformative good review is not ideal (however, it is flattering), but an uninformative bad review is just plain useless. I don't have to work on improving what people like about my writing style, but I'm not psychic enough to tell what they don't. It's not as if I'm going to attack anyone for stating something I already know – that my work is not perfect. Who knows? Maybe they just disliked the subject matter, and that's fine with me, because I don't write to please everyone – I write to become better at something I love. But enough of that! I think you can tell how much your comments mean to me by now, and I know ALL about long replies (I always feel so bad for going on and on whenever I'm chatting online. It actually hurts a little bit when the replies I get are significantly shorter than what I write)!_

_As for the basilisk, I made a conscious decision to make Oroboros male in this fic (my original intent was to call him 'Naga'). This was to highlight the differences between Sal and Tom, but to also show the obvious respect that he holds for his ancestor's supposed life views, as would have been evident by his snake's name, Nagini. I believe that despite that respect, and the obvious (perceived) similarities between the pair, that Tom would have wanted to break away somewhat from his heritage – where Sal had chosen a male familiar, he chose a female. A small (rather silly) victory, in retrospect, but I often find that people respond best to the subtle things that set them apart from others. I believe that Tom's main issues stem from the fact that he was never able to fit in anywhere. He desperately wanted to find a place to belong (which he did in his heritage), but he wanted to step above that heritage as well, whilst using it to back him. He didn't just want to be the heir to Slytherin – he wanted to hold his own power, and be respected for that._

_In the end, however, I dropped the name due to some *factors* (which will come up later) that would have made it seem a bit silly. Instead, I chose Oroboros, the snake that eats itself; as in, the family/House that is forever causing its own destruction. Always starting anew, and (I grin as I write this) resurrecting._

_As for your views on Dumbledore, I wholeheartedly agree. He could have done so much more for 'his people'. However, I also believe that in the end, he did regret not trying enough to protect others. Whether this change was brought on by his impending death, his age, or other factors, I do not know, but I do agree that for most of his life, Dumbledore tried his best to avoid getting involved in anything unless it suited him (and regardless of the cost). Perhaps he was just waiting for others to realise the error of their ways? Perhaps he thought everyone deserved second chances (due to his own past mistakes)? Who knows... Well, J.K does. :P _

_Anyway, I should stop before this becomes longer than the chapter! It's been nice chatting with you, and I look forward to your continued support._

Lucy~!


	7. The Weekend Fortells More Misfortune

**_A/N: Sorry this took a few days to upload. I feel like a real sack of crap right now, pumping myself full of meds (and with a cold on top of that!) so I didn't really feel like editing for a few days.  
_**

_**Enjoy:**  
_

* * *

_Previously:_

_Deciding that this is the best possible course of action for now, I hastily re-enter the dungeon, glancing back and forth to assure my solitude, before rushing off towards the first floor. The day is growing late, and I have yet to meet with Oroboros._

* * *

Unfortunately for me, I am met with an unpleasant sight as soon as I round the corner from my bedroom. Standing in my path are the unlikeable pair of Penny and Millipede, or whatever their names are supposed to be. I never bothered to learn them (or at least had promptly forgotten them as soon as I possibly could), because they had so far presented no reason for me to like them. They both appeared vain and shallow, and the smaller one had even insulted my dress yesterday morning. I didn't see what was so wrong with it – wizarding apparel had not changed so much that women did not wear dresses, and it was of a respectable length (especially by this time's standards) – yet she had snickered something under her breath at the blond boy beside her, about me looking like her mother. I had found it necessary to mention that her mother must have significantly better taste than her daughter, before Professor Snape had seen fit to deduct ten points from me. It was entirely unfair of him.

_His existence is unfair, Sal,_ I reminded myself, _I'm pretty sure he knows it, as well._

Hoping that the girls would simply ignore me as I passed – preferably by assuming I was another student – I continued on without halting for either of them. Fate, it seemed, had other ideas.

"Where are you going, Smith?" the girl with the upturned nose called to me, her tone victorious.

_Honestly, does she have nothing better to do?_ I ask myself, exasperated.

I went to turn in their direction, but they had already circled in front of me. I rolled my eyes.

_Vultures. _

"Penny," I say, "What a nice surprise."

I think it is pretty evident from my tone that it is _not_ a nice surprise. The girl looks at me with disgust.

"It's Pansy," she snarls. The girl beside her is mimicking the same facial expression, although whether that is an actual decision on her behalf, or just a side effect of her unfortunate facial features, I do not know. I do not particularly care to know. I want to see my familiar.

"Well, Petal, as nice as it is to see you, I must be on my way," I reply. Judging from her face, this is the wrong response.

"You're not going anywhere, Smith," she spits, "This area is out of bounds outside of class time. You know I'm going to report you."

I am tempted to laugh.

_Does she really think that phases me?_

"Oh no!" I drawl, "Please, don't report me. You'll ruin my perfect record! Now if you don't mind..."

I try to move past the pair, but they block my path. Millipede pushes me back, and I stumble into the wall. I remind myself to make the rest of her school days particularly unpleasant.

Pansy, on the other hand, glowers down at me, looking for all the world as if I murdered her parents, and shoved their bodies in a broom closet.

"I mean it, Smith," she threatens, "I'll report you to Professor Snape."

_Go ahead... _I urge,_ I'm sure it would make his day._

Outwardly, I simply roll my eyes.

"Listen, Pippy," I state honestly, staring her straight in the eye, "you could report me to Salazar Slytherin he-imself, and I would still not give a stuff about it. I don't care – I simply do not care. I do not care for you, I do not care for your silly little games, and I do not care what the Great and Powerful Professor Snape has to think about me being – gasp – '_out of bounds_'," I finish.

"Is that so?"

The two girls in front of me stiffened immediately, and it took me a moment to realise that the voice had not been one of theirs. I look up just in time to see the Professor turn the corner before us.

_Right on cue,_ I sigh, _as usual..._

Also as usual, the Professor looks to be in a foul mood.

"What was that you were saying, Miss Smith?" he asks, in what I am sure he believes is his most threatening voice.

_Well, it might work on little girls,_ I think, eyeing Panties and Millicent, both of whom look about to soil their underwear.

I flash my most winning grin.

"Why, Professor Snape," I say, "We were just talking about you!"

The Professor doesn't even blink.

"So I heard," he replies, in a dangerous monotone.

I shoot him a puzzled frown.

"Then why ever did you ask me for?" I questioned. The two Slytherin girls look at me as though I've gone mad.

_Merlin, girls! He's just a man! You'd think they were facing down a Horntail._ I think, watching Pansy take a hasty step forward. The girl looks fearful and hopeful in the same instance.

"Sir, I was just about to report Smith to you. She's out of bounds," she states in a rush of breath. The Professor glowers at her.

"I can see that, Miss Parkinson," he states condescendingly. The girl quickly looks away, a blush on her cheeks. Millipede doesn't even make an effort to speak, and instead glances nervously at the floor. The Professor returns his attention to me.

"Miss Smith, I would hope that after receiving such a _generous_ position here," at this he eyes me up, "and on such short notice, that you could refrain from consistently insulting the kindness of our Headmaster with your blatant disrespect of the rules."

_Considering I could have you all thrown from the castle_, I think, _I don't think I'm the one who should be worried about abiding by the rules_.

"I would hope that from now on you will begin to take your time here more seriously, Miss Smith. You are already in a precarious situation. If I were you, I would not work to make it worse."

From the way he said that my situation was _precarious_, I could tell he did not just mean my '_blatant lack of respect_' for him as a human being was going to result in more detentions. He meant my very position at this school was volatile. I had suspected as much. The Headmaster had seemed far too welcoming when he suggested I stayed on as a student. He was looking to extract information – possibly on some matter I knew nothing of – but was ready to dispose of me if I should prove more difficult than expected. I knew this. I just wondered how the Professor had figured it out.

Anyone less accustomed to subtlety would have missed the warning in his words. I frowned. It almost seemed as though he was actually concerned for my well-being.

_There might actually be a real teacher in there,_ I wondered, before swiftly dismissing the thought, _Not likely. He's probably operating under the assumption that I fear expulsion. As if I would tolerate such a thing! I'd just have to take back my position as Head of Slytherin, if they tried._

Still, I replied with a subdued, "Yes, Sir."

The Professor nodded curtly.

"Good," he was quick to reply, "May I also suggest that you refrain from insulting Slytherin House by taking our Founder's name in vain. I am sure that your fellow students do not impugn Godric Gryffindor's legacy."

_I do,_ I thought, though I was flattered at the implied chivalry on my behalf, _If only they would stop calling me a man. I don't even look like a boy. _

"Yes, Sir," I reply again, now intending to thoroughly 'insult' myself at every given opportunity. Once more, the Professor nodded.

"Now," he drawled, "I suggest you be on your way, Miss Smith. I do not wish to see you near the dungeons out of class time again."

_About time! _I exclaimed.

I secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yes, Sir," I replied, walking past him with my head down. Eventually, someone would figure out that I wasn't really that meek. I was a terrible actor, and had slipped out of character several times already. Most notably when insulting my Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor every day. However, this time he let me go. Or so I thought.

"Miss Smith?" he called, as I headed back up the corridor, "Twenty points from Gryffindor for loitering."

Without turning, I whispered back, "Twenty points from Slytherin for holding me up."

_We may not win the House Cup_, I thought, _but we most certainly are not being beaten by_ Slytherin.

* * *

Upon reaching the second floor girls' lavatory, I found myself facing a dilemma of another kind – Miss Myrtle. That's the first thing I learned about the unsatisfied ghost, after the incredibly woeful part, of course – that she hated her nickname (however accurate). I had also learned she was a terrible gossip. And so, for the purpose of reaching my basilisk without the entire school thinking I was some mad dark magician, I opted for a more respectful title.

As it turned out, perhaps a better nickname for her would have been 'Perverted Myrtle'. Just another tidbit of knowledge I had acquired in anticipation of this day. I immediately put this knowledge to use.

"Myrtle," I called, "Are you here?"

Of course, I already knew she was there. I could hear her sobbing from outside the bathroom, for Merlin's sake. At my voice, the sobbing quickly quieted to sniffles.

"Who's there?" she asked, poking her head through a stall door, "Oh, it's you, Sally."

She sounded disappointed. Then again, she always sounded disappointed. It really was hard to tell whether she was even capable of being pleased or not.

_She will be in a moment,_ I thought, putting on my best excited expression.

"Myrtle, you'll never guess!" I cried happily, "The Ravenclaw quidditch team just finished practice! They're all going to the showers!" I giggled at this point, as coquettishly as I could. The ghost just continued hovering in front of me, a gloomy expression on her face.

"So?" she asked.

"Well," I giggled, "I heard from a friend that one of their chasers has a really big," I looked away, attempting to blush by holding my breath, "_broomstick_."

_Oh, dear Morgana, I did not just say that!_ I thought, disturbed my mouth even had the capability of using such contrived innuendos.

_Must be God's fault, _I decided, _When in doubt, blame the Gryffindor._

My words, however, appeared to have the desired effect on Myrtle.

"Why ever would I care about something like that?" she sniffed, backing away into her stall, "Do you think I'm some kind of lecher?"

"Of course not," I say, "I just thought you'd like to-"

I needn't even finish my sentence, because the girl had already flushed herself away to the Ravenclaw showers. I smirked, bouncing on my toes in gladness.

_Success!_

After waiting another few moments to ensure that the ghost girl had stayed 'entertained', I began my preparations. I warded the bathroom entrance to make it temporarily unplottable, then scanned the room for any pre-existing charms or other spells that might alert anyone to my activities. Finding none, I strode over to the circlet of sinks. I absentmindedly stroked a thumb across the serpent on a faucet.

"_Open_," I commanded, and was instantly rewarded by the movement of parting wash-basins. Once the sinks had settled back down, I hopped off the edge into the piping, levitating to the ground.

_That one_ was _cast just for my personal use_, I snickered.

Despite the relatively slow speed of my descent down the tunnel, when my feet reached the ground, I was greeted by a sickening crunch.

_What was that?_ I thought, cringing. Looking down, I saw that I had stood on the remains of some animal – a rodent, I supposed. I snarled.

_Disgusting!_

I tried to kick it off of my boot, before realising that I was surrounded by thousands of similar carcases. They were piled high around the dark room, crushed into the walls and floor. I was confused.

There was meant to be a house elf working in this sector, and feeding my familiar rats? I kicked my way through a pile of the skeletons.

_There is nothing healthy about this diet_.

Resolving to spend the minimum possible amount of time in the sewer, I hitch my skirts higher, and continue forth into the darkness. I do not bother with a lighting spell; my eyesight is good enough without it. Roughly halfway into the tunnel, I come across another surprise – a shed snake skin. I take a moment to admire its size. I smile, knowing full well that I look like a fool.

_He's gotten so big! _

A new spring in my step, I practically skip the rest of the way to the Chamber. However, once I reach the inner door, I find it to be already unlocked.

"That's strange," I say, cocking my head to the side.

_I've told him not to leave the Chamber open. Unfiltered water might flood it... _

I shake my head. Even if it has, I can get the elves to do a little cleaning, no harm.

Smiling, I step through the open door.

"_Oroborus_," I hiss, "_Are you-_"

I halt. There is something off about the Chamber. The walls are...red, and...damaged. The statue of Merlin is even missing half his head (something I am not complaining about – Helga's statue always did disturb me a bit). What I find more disturbing is that there appears to have been a massacre in this room – and that yet another 'permanent' charm has worn off. The water in the channels is filthy. It should be sparkling, ready to filter out into the lake, not a murky brown colour. Not to mention it's freezing in the room, when it was meant to be constantly heated.

_It stinks in here, _I note.

I cover my face with my hand in a vain effort to keep out the stench of waste, and rotting flesh, eyes still scanning the room. I notice the object of my search curled up over in the far left corner.

_I see he still likes his naps_, I think wryly.

"_Boros, wake up_," I call. He does not stir.

_That's odd... He's usually a very light sleeper. _

I walk closer to the body of my familiar. He remains unnervingly still.

_Something feels wrong about this..._

I continue my approach, steps unsure. I could swear that the stink is getting worse, the further I move in.

"_Dear one,_" I whisper, placing a hand upon the serpent's back, "_please, wake up._"

When he does not, I move to reach for his face.

"_Boros, come now_-"

I halt, suddenly, unsure of what I am seeing.

Then I scream.

And I scream.

And I scream.

I scream so loud and so long that I begin to forget why I am doing such a thing. Almost. I could never forget with the reason staring back at me, horrifying in its form. I could never forget with my anguished cry reverberating off the walls, bouncing on and off and on and off and on until the contorted melody could almost be mistaken for a song.

A song of death.

Boros' head faces me, his features desecrated beyond recognition, his eyes dried together with blood and puss. His bloody mouth hangs open, frozen in an tormented cry. I notice he is missing teeth. As I touch him, his top jaw slides off to the side, crashing to the floor with a sickening thud.

I can't help but stare.

_Maybe I can fix him?_ I find myself thinking feverishly,_ Maybe I can still save him? There's still time. There has to be!_

But underneath my delusional thoughts, a part of me understands that there is no time. There will never be time. Not anymore. Not for me; not here, in this cold, foul, stinking place. Nor in the halls that surround this tomb. Nor will there be comfort in the world outside of that. Because, I realise, I was right in my earlier assumptions. My room was a memorial. This chamber, desecrated as it is, was a memorial, and Hogwarts – my beloved Hogwarts – was a bacchanal of the dead. For what else could it be? All those who were most celebrated within its halls were dead, and all those who remained were easily forgotten. It had not failed my notice that I was the least popular of the Founders, and certainly the most misconstrued of image.

All of a sudden, the stress of the past week overtook me, my emotions spewing forth into the rancid air. All of my longing, rage, hatred, despair at my situation turned to tears, my grief to shudders. I fell to the ground, and for a brief moment, the air was filled with the sound of my pathetic gasping. Even as I longed to die, my lungs fought to live. The irony did not escape me. I grinned bitterly.

"Gone," I whispered through my clenched teeth, chest heaving brokenly, "everyone, just...gone."

I laughed, a mirthless sound, before once more bursting into tears.

"Where are you?" I moaned in a weak voice, "why would you leave me?"

The sticky tiles, stained thick through age, bloodshed, and now my own tears, did not answer me.

"Why would you leave me?!" I cried, "Why would you leave?!"

I banged my fist against the cold floor, hard enough to hear bones crack. I was momentarily distracted by the pain, but not for long enough. A far deeper pain that had been steadily growing from within me bubbled at the surface.

"HOW COULD YOU GO AND LEAVE ME HERE TO ROT! HOW COULD YOU?!" I screeched at the ceiling, my words turning back upon me after meeting with the expanse of stone. It was as if the chamber was accusing me of the very same thing I was accusing of everyone else. I collapsed onto the floor in a dilapidated heap. I did not care if it was covered in waste, and grime, and I did not care if doing so soaked me through with blood. I was not thinking of that. I refused to think at all, but I did anyway. I could not stop myself.

A large part of me found itself wishing that I was more delicate, or had at least attempted to be. Maybe if I had listened to Rowena, for all her nagging about my unseemly behaviour, I would have been able to faint now. If I was more of a woman, I could surely have done it, and this nightmare could have been over. But instead, I lay there, in my pile of fabric and filth, too shocked to even blink, my last connection to the past rotting away before me.

"What did we do to deserve this?" the words came from my throat, frail and foreign to me. I did not at first recognise them as my own. They were too full of despair, and yet, they were mine. Slowly, carefully, I closed my eyes, wishing to disappear. The world did not go away in that instant. It did not even pause out of courtesy. But for the first time in my life, I, Salazar Slytherin, found myself too weak to go on...

_Who did this to him...?_

My eyes snapped back open. In my despair, I had forgotten to question just how Boros had met his end. I swivelled my head to glance over the slain serpent. I was almost sick. He could not even stare back at me. I would never see his eyes again. I would never be able to feel the kinship that lay there, never sense the understanding. I closed my own eyes again.

_I must compose myself._ _I needed to know what happened here._

Using that knowledge to calm myself, I rose to my feet, scrambling against the worn marble. I stepped tentatively towards the corpse, willing myself to not do this; to be able to go on pretending that this wasn't real. I ignore the urge to run as far and as fast as I can away from the school and never come back. I cannot submit to such wishes. For Oroboros, and for the sake of my own peace of mind, I must continue.

I knelt before the corpse, extending one battered, shaking hand.

_Stop it,_ I thought, scowling at the nervous limb, _you must!_

Still fighting my natural instinct to run from death, I pressed my bruised skin to the serpent's scales. Pain flared through my damaged hand, and not only because of the marble floor I had inflicted it with. I could sense it; sharp, and biting, and venomous. Dark magic.

It was so unlike anything I'd felt before that I recoiled. This wasn't the same seething magic from earlier. Where the first had been calculated perfection, this was true pain. Nothing here broiled deep beneath the surface, emerging calm and controlled. This magic, this beast raged uncontrollably against its shackles, biting out at whatever it could. This magic would rather kill than control. Beyond anything else, it was old. It terrified me, and yet I recognised it. But from where?

_It does not matter..._

I could tell it was too old for me to have a chance to extract any true form of revenge. Whomever had cast the spell must by now be long dead, their body turned to dust, and their soul free. Nothing like what they had done to Oroboros. Their curse would have torn away at the serpent before me, stripping him of his sanity day by day. Until one day, he had no choice. He had no purpose left other than to follow the orders of those more deranged than he. And he would not have questioned it, for there was no true part of him left with the ability to question. I closed my heavy lids in an attempt to stop the tears from rolling out.

_He must have been in so much pain..._

I almost found myself grateful to whomever had ultimately taken his life. A crueller fate would have been to let him live on in that torment for even longer. Logically, I knew this, but I could not bring myself to be truly thankful for the destruction laid before me. I felt responsible for his death.

_I can at least remove the darkness...put this body to rest_, I think forlornly. But when I try to act on this thought, I am crippled by pain.

_It's too strong!_

I feel like crying, but I have already done enough of that tonight, I decide. So, instead, I simply stare at the corpse with its detached jaw, and dulled scales. I soon find myself no longer being able to bear the scene before me.

_I must leave..._

Instantly, I am at my feet and running through the dirty passageway leading back to the girl's bathroom. I cannot stand this pain a second longer. But a sudden thought stops me in my tracks. I stand for a moment, toes still poised to flee.

_I may not be able to honour his body,_ I think, _but perhaps I can honour a small part of him?_

I twirl back to face the chamber, breathing hard. I've already come so far – I am now close to the exit. Even if I do choose to venture back into that...that Hel...I can just as easily run once more. I would always have the option of returning to the outer world without having to face my nightmare at all. I like options. There is always a good one – a safe one; a cowardly one.

I quickly make up my mind. My feet race back towards the Purification Chamber at an almost inhuman speed; the only thing that keeps me from crashing straight into the door is my own stuttering courage. Before it can stop me, I push my fear aside, and slide back into the room. It is exactly the same as I left it a few minutes ago, right down to the blood spatters near the roof. A small part of me dies at this realisation – a hope I didn't know I was holding that has now shrivelled to nothingness.

Still, I head to the basilisk's mortal shell, my footsteps light and skittish. Like a dance. Like a snake. Like a coward.

Reaching the basilisk's head, I nimbly lean down, inspecting the detached jaw at a far closer angle than I would have preferred. I gulp. My next move will be key. If I fail, it changes nothing; if I succeed, I might choke on my own vomit.

With great care, I reach my uninjured hand down to the scaly head of my dead familiar. My fingers caress his snout – I cannot help doing so – then hook under one of the smaller, lighter scales around his left eye. My hand burns as the curse tries to suck me into it, but I persist. With a small, precise jerk, I uproot the scale from its previous home. I inspect it carefully. Underneath the flaking blood, it is a pretty colour, starting at a deep aqua, and turning to white. It seems unnaturally dull to my eyes, but then, he had been dead for a long time, and from what I could gather, the serpent's diet hadn't exactly been nourishing. Despite this, when I run the scale across my thumb, it cuts the flesh. I watch the blood dripping, stunned for a moment at the sight of something so fresh in this room of decay.

Once recovered, I attempt to snap the scale between my fingers. Impossible. I am satisfied, and so I cleanse it of the dark. I find myself glad at its small size, after even that task takes the wind out of me. I then reach into my robe pocket, feeling for the wand from earlier. It spins into my grasp. I cleanse that, too, of darkness, before cautiously fitting the scale into the centre of the old wand. I must be careful here. Although I find wands mostly limiting, that does not make them any less volatile to me, and the process of replacing a heart – especially with a different type of core – is a delicate one. Despite this, when I siphon my power into the dark wood, it accepts it greedily.

_It's almost as if it craves living_, I think. I do not let this thought distract me from the process. I am no expert in wand-making, and my energy is drained as it is. If I do not concentrate, I could end up looking far worse than Boros, especially considering my base materials.

Basilisks tend to be testy creatures, loving very few, and trusting fewer. To make a core from the scale of such a beast, one should be sure of holding both of these places in the animal's heart. I was no longer sure. I had been, but what was I to think? That he would have loved me through the pain? That he still recalled me, above anything else? I would have liked to believe that our love for each other would always be mutual, but I found myself clinging to the deepness of my own emotions, as if _they_ could keep the scale from reacting negatively to the stolen carcass of wood. Which brought up a whole other cause for worry – what would the stick think of me, attempting to resurrect it for my own selfish purposes? I hoped that it would be happy to be free of despair; enough so to keep from blowing up in my face.

Needless to say, I was genuinely fearful for my life, so when the process was complete, and the first flick of the new wand brought forth a shower of emerald and aqua sparks instead of death, I practically collapsed with relief. I looked my new tool up and down. It almost seemed to radiate joy. A trick of the mind, certainly, but the fact that I was entirely in tact was proof enough that Oroboros had never forgotten me – or blamed me. I felt my heart swell.

_At least we can still be together in this way, friend._

And I was sure we would be for a very long time. Given our bond, and the natural resilience of basilisks, no amount of focus or power should be able to destroy this wand – not even Professor Slughorn, should he ever recognise his missing relic.

Not wanting to waste any more time in this place of sorrow, I reached to give Boros one last kiss – an action that brought bile to my throat – and headed for the exit. Making sure the door was closed this time, I couldn't help but tear up at the sight of his mangled body disappearing from view.

_I will miss you, dear one..._

Once his image was gone, I was hit by a wave of nausea. I held my head, toppling into the wall. It seemed that I had been in worse shape than even I had thought, holding up a brave exterior for the benefit of one who could not appreciate it. Or had it merely been to suppress the pain? I did not know, but my vision was fading, and I refused to collapse in a sewer.

I made my way back to the bathroom, barely retaining the strength to levitate myself up the pipe-made-opening; several times almost falling back onto the unforgiving remains of rodents beneath me. Even realigning the plumbing was an effort. Finally, I collapsed back against the closest wash basin, intending to take my rest. Thankfully, for me, it appeared as though Miss Myrtle had not returned yet.

_Either that, or she's sleeping in the U-bend_, I think, eyeing the sky outside the window. It appears to be very late at night, _Just my luck. Getting caught wandering around after hours is exactly what I need on my record._

I move to exit the bathroom, ending the ward I created over the door with my new wand. It works very well. However, as I go to turn the handle, I realise for the first time how terrifying I look; Merlin knows what smeared across my robes, and with a bulging purple hand. I actually think I may have broken a few fingers in my earlier rage. Usually, I could easily fix such a simple wound.

_And I could try out that Scourgify spell,_ I think, tempted to try, but as it is, the effort of dispelling my ward has me swaying around the room. I decide that I must take extra care in not getting caught, at least until I've had a shower. With this in mind, I peer around the door, eyes piercing the dark, before I begin to teeter down the hall. I don't make it very far before the plucking of strict heels interrupts my weak efforts to stay upright.

_Damn it all! _I think, stumbling over to a suit of armour. There's a niche up ahead I could hide in, if it were not for my current condition.

_Maybe they'll just leave me alone..._

Without the task of keeping my feet in motion to hold my attention, I feel my mind begin to fuzz over. I sway in place a little, banging my head into the armour's chest.

"Oooooooowwwwww," I moan, although I do not realise it's me. Suddenly, the clacking stops, and a bright light shines in my face. I squint into the beam, unsure how the Sun ended up so close to my face.

"Miss Smith!" the Sun exclaims, "What are you doing out of bed at this hour? It is well after midnight!"

Strangely enough, the Sun sounds an awful lot like Professor McGonagall. The thought makes me smile, which in turn makes me giddy. I cling to the armour harder, as I almost topple over. The Sun begins to move closer, sounding increasingly indignant.

"Miss Smith," it cries again, "are you intoxicated?!"

At this, I have to laugh. The effort sends my head spinning, and I suddenly feel like I'm bouncing around off the walls. I promptly throw up all over my shoes.

_I just got those... _

I try to hold myself together enough to feel miffed, but the most I can manage is amusement at the various shades of yellow swirling in my vomit.

"Miss Smith!" the voice calls again, closer than ever. I realise, rather belatedly, that I am now being held up on one side by the elbow. I start to panic, struggling to escape the grasp.

_Who has caught me? Why won't they let me go?_

The other person attempts to hold me in place, but I am too persistent. I free myself from their strong grip the exact same moment my eyes roll into the back of my head, and I fall to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

_And that is the story of my first week as a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I had lost everything, and yet lost nothing - it was everyone around me who seemed wanting. At the time, I did not know just how accurate to the truth my thoughts were... _

_Sincerely,_

_S.S._

* * *

**A/N: I'll keep this brief, just because I'm feeling really terrible right now. **

**The Yoshinator and Moi: you guys are so awesome to review every chapter. I'd PM and write a section in my A/N for you each (respectively), but as it is, I feel like I'm dying. Just know that you (and everyone else who has spent their time reading this story) are truly appreciated. **

**Love,**

**Lucy~!**


	8. A Tired Severus Suspects Something

**A/N: Suffice to say, I'm still ill, I have edited the last chapter (don't worry about rereading it; it all made it into the previously section), and I've been awake for 33 hours (gaming, of all things), so my writing/editing skills have dissolved into a pile of goop. Yay...**

**Anyways... Once more, I really want to reply to you guys (I knew I should have pre-written my responses!), BECAUSE I JUST REALLY DID! Argh! It makes me mad. I like having the whole two-way feedback thing here... I ramble when I'm tired... The only thing I can really remember thinking is that it doesn't matter if you review every chapter, as long as you know you have fun reading, that's fine with me, and I'm honoured every time I find I have a new follower/reviewer/favourite. I'm just happy that other people are able to enjoy what I write. :D**

* * *

_Previously:_

_And that is the story of my first week as a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I had lost everything, and yet lost nothing - it was everyone around me who seemed wanting. At the time, I did not know just how accurate to the truth my thoughts were... _

_Sincerely,_

_S.S._

* * *

Severus Snape was having a decidedly bad week. He had admitted this to himself around Tuesday, but it had taken until early Saturday morning for the symptoms to fully set in. On that morning, he had thrown himself out of bed, staggering from the weight of a thundering headache, and promptly stalked his way out into the world, spurred on only by the intense desire to consume his weight in runny school porridge. This in itself was saying something, because had his wits been about him, Severus would have remembered that he despised porridge almost as much as he did Harry Potter. Perhaps more, if there was no sugar available to drown the offensive gloop in.

However, upon reaching the Great Hall, and expending much effort to seat himself properly, it soon became apparent that there was to be no porridge that morning. Instead, the house elves had taken it upon themselves to serve a rich raisin toast, bacon strips, and freshly squeezed orange juice to those seated at the Head Table. This was yet another unfortunate turn in Severus' week, as he had quite the sensitive stomach, that was prone to upsetting at the slightest provocation so early in the morning. Still, as there were to be no classes today, and as he had no intention of spending any part of it outside of his own chamber, he felt himself quite willing to risk illness, as opposed to starving himself for propriety's sake. Unfortunately for him, his stomach was somewhat less agreeable towards the idea, and the professor soon found himself exiting the Great Hall for the hospital wing, where Poppy had fussed incessantly over how wan he was, and how thin, and chattered on about what kind of changes he needed to make to his current lifestyle. The man had not been impressed, and after several hours of convincing the bossy nurse of his relative health (something he was not entirely sure he had succeeded in), he had finally managed to escape back into the solitude and darkness of the Slytherin dungeons. It was here that he finally was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Since the return of his old 'master', the man had found it increasingly arduous to find a moment of peace, what with flitting in between classes, and teachers' meeting, and _other_ meetings, and keeping that brat Potter alive – something that was uncommonly difficult, considering that he was a boy less than half the professor's age. Now, with the added charge of keeping Lucius and Narcissa's son out of trouble – yet another uncommonly difficult task – on top of his ever-increasing list of duties, the man was beginning to really feel the wear of his age, and had all but given up on sleeping throughout the night decently without the aid of sleeping potions. And that wasn't including the nights when he didn't return to the castle until well after the sun had started to rise. It all put him in a rather sour, self-pitying mood. And that made him angry.

It was in this sullen mindset, that he then shadowed through the dungeons, hailing all his energy to keep himself proper and upright, and wishing for all the world to be left to himself for the rest of the day.A sarcastic echo shattered his dream.

"Oh no!" it cried out, causing Snape to start, "Please, don't report me. You'll ruin my perfect record! Now if you don't mind..."

The professor waited in the shadows, refraining from making his presence known as of yet. His students had a way of sorting out disputes amongst themselves, often enough without even seeming to be displeased with one another.

Waiting, Severus heard some scuffling, followed by the huff of breath that usually follows being slammed up against a wall. He grimaced. It was a feeling he found himself far too well acquainted with. He momentarily pondered how it was odd that Slytherins were resorting to physical violence in the open, but did not linger on the thought too long, as the distinctive voice of Pansy Parkinson echoed around the stone walls.

"I mean it, Smith," she threatened, "I'll report you to Professor Snape."

_Smith..._ he thought, _She had better mean that Hufflepuff, Zacharias._

However, the voices he had heard were both distinctly female, and Severus felt his heart sinking.

_That explains it, then._

The older Slytherins may not abuse each other through unspoken code, but they certainly weren't above doing the very same to other students. They were, after all, children, and children weredespicable bullies. Not that he blamed Parkinson in this case. He often found himself nursing the urge to slap the latest addition to sixth year across her silly face, and he hadn't even known her a week. But that brought up a whole other point – that Miss Smith was out of bounds, in his territory. Severus closed his eyes, groaning internally. As much as he loved to take points from Gryffindor students, he currently didn't feel fit to reprimand a house elf through the throbbing in the back of his head.

_Couldn't she pick another day to be insolent?_ Severus pleaded with the dungeon ceiling. A stray drop of water fell from between two slightly disconnected stones, onto his nose.

_Apparently not._

From around the corner, the girls continued 'chatting'.

"Listen, Pippy," came the voice that was Smith's, "you could report me to Salazar Slytherin he-imself, and I would still not give a stuff about it. I don't care – I simply do not care. I do not care for you, I do not care for your silly little games, and I do not care what the Great and Powerful Professor Snape has to think about me being – gasp – '_out of bounds_'."

Severus took this as his cue to step from behind the stone wall.

"Is that so?" he drawled dangerously. He was pleased to find that this appeared to stop the Slytherin girls in their tracks – two, he noticed, spying Bullstrode's distinctive form, not one. Smith, however, looked annoyed. Severus decided to amp up his 'professor' voice.

"What was that you were saying, Miss Smith?" he asked, raising a already arched eyebrow. To his disdain, she grinned. Quite winningly, he noted, before scowling the thought away.

"Why, Professor Snape," she bubbled, "We were just talking about you!"

_No?_ He thought, sarcasm dripping throughout his mind and into his next words, "So I heard."

Smith frowned.

"Then why ever did you ask me for?" she asked, sounding for all the world the most innocent being ever to grace Hogwarts' halls. Snape could feel his headache coming back with a vengeance. He was about to reply when Miss Parkinson spun around, and began spluttering.

"Sir, I was just about to report Smith to you. She's out of bounds," she rushed through the words as if they weren't obvious.

"I can see that, Miss Parkinson."

He glared at the girl until she turned away, then started back on Smith, who was now looking incredulously between her teacher and the other girls.

_Shocked someone listens to figures of authority, Smith? _he thought with disdain.

"Miss Smith," the man started, itching to just let the matter fly, so he could leave, "I would hope that after receiving such a _generous_ position here, and on such short notice, that you could refrain from consistently insulting the kindness of our Headmaster with your blatant disrespect of the rules."

The girl appeared to process this comment, before replying carefully, "Yes, Sir."

Severus nodded curtly.

_At least she appears to understand what I meant..._

"Good," he said, "May I also suggest that you refrain from insulting Slytherin House by taking our Founder's name in vain. I am sure that your fellow students do not impugn Godric Gryffindor's legacy."

"Yes, Sir," Smith replied in the same humbled tone, and Severus found himself nodding again.

_Can we get this over with? _He thought, exasperatedly.

"Now, I suggest you be on your way, Miss Smith. I do not wish to see you near the dungeons out of class time again."

Severus felt he must have done something wrong, because Smith now looked positively gleeful. The longer he kept his eye on her, however, the easier he found it to dismiss her apparent gladness as a trick of the light.

"Yes, Sir," she replied, walking past him with her head down. She certainly seemed repentant. Just to be sure, he called after her.

"Miss Smith? Twenty points from Gryffindor for loitering."

The girl did not even falter in her step, making Severus frown as he swivelled back to face the two girls left before him. Both Pansy and Millicent were twitching under his gaze. He pondered them both for a minute, making it look as though he were concocting terrible punishments for each of them to suffer through. He was, in actuality, thinking of his rickety old bed, and how much he wanted to melt into it, but they did not need to know that. When he thought they were both an appropriate amount of terrified, he waved them off.

"Out," he commanded, a threat on his tongue, and the girls quickly complied, scurrying off in the same direction as their Gryffindor classmate. As soon as they were out of sight, Severus slumped over, relieved to be finally be so close to his bedroom. He turned the final corner with a dizzying spring in his step, unlocked his guarded door, and stepped through the threshold, ready for bed. He was just about to reinstate the wards when yet another noise caused him to seize up.

"Stop frowning!" A voice singsonged from against the adjacent wall. This only made Severus frown more.

_Never a bloody moment of peace.._.

"You can't even see me from over there," he replied to the mirror, not even deigning to look upon it.

"But I can sense it," it called back, "You're always frowning! Try a smile!"

"Shut up. I will not take advice from a _mirror_," he muttered darkly, locking the door behind him with a flick of his wand.

"You might as well not even have me, then," it replied, matter-of-factly "You won't listen to me; you won't lighten up, and you never fix your hair!"

"I look perfectly presentable," he replied defensively, suddenly feeling more alert than he would have preferred. He straightened up, walking stiffly over to his dresser.

"And I do take care of myself," he added, glowering straight at the offending piece of glass, now that he was in front of it. As inconspicuously as he could, he inspected his head. He noted that his hair was a _bit_ messy.

_What else is to be expected? _ he thought, _No one can live like this, and come out unscathed._

He would consider it a personal success if his biggest problem involved his hair.

"No you don't," the mirror stated brazenly, "You should stop using that muggle confiddler. It makes you look _greasy_!"

Severus took a moment to remember that he didn't want to deal with replacing his dresser's glass, or cleaning up the mess that would evidently be left over should an '_accident_' occur. The house elves refused to touch his quarters, for some reason or another – probably due to Slytherin's reputation. He had long ago resigned himself to living with the clutter.

He glowered.

Despite the years of constant abuse at the hands of the dresser, he had only truly begun to contemplate disposing of the thing last Thursday, when as he had been preparing new senior lesson plans, it had mentioned to him that he was sprouting new lines across his face. As he recalled, its exact phrasing had been, "Severus, you're turning into a wrinkly old bastard!"

Of course, he had no idea where the mirror had picked up such subtle verbiage; certainly not from him, and most certainly not from him expressing his sometimes volatile opinions of the Headmaster. Still, it had wounded his pride; something which was already dragging itself across the floor, bloodied, and begging for release. He felt himself retaliate.

"I'll wear what I like!" he snapped defiantly.

"Evidently. You should take a page out of the other one's book."

Severus paused at that.

"The 'other one'?" he questioned, tight lipped.

"Oh, yes. She was so well-groomed. And polite! Nothing like you at all," the mirror rushed, ecstatic.

_She...?_ he thought.

"What the _bloody _hell are you talking about?" he asked. He just wanted to go to bed, not play mind games with a silly piece of glass.

The mirror laughed, and Severus found himself cringing at the sound. How anyone had thought such a high-pitched voice was attractive, he did not know.

"Why, the girl of course! She was very nice to me. Very pretty, too. She's not you beau, is she?" the mirror rambled on, and Severus found himself thoroughly perplexed.

_Someone else has been in here?_ he surmised.

_That would be bad._

Grasping at either sides of the mirror's frame, he questioned, "What girl?"

"The short one!" it piped back. He shook his head.

"No. I mean, who was she? That is to say, what was her name?" he corrected, knowing the mirror was prone to answering direct questions only. Despite his efforts, the answer he received was still vague.

"I don't know!" It exclaimed happily. Severus felt his eye begin to twitch.

"You...don't know?" he ground out. Breaking the glass was becoming a more viable option by the minute, "How could you not know? When was she here?"

"Oh, up until a few minutes ago. You just missed her," the glass sounded disappointed that he had missed the opportunity of meeting this 'well-groomed' intruder. Severus growled.

"What was she doing in here?" he asked, fervent.

"Not much, really. She came in, and then talked to me a bit." it replied, "It's a pity she didn't stay longer. I'm sure you would have liked her."

_I'm sure..._ he thought sourly.

"She just came in, you say?" he asked

_How did she get past the wards? _He wondered, still wanting to go to bed.

"Yes!" the mirror piped, "Straight through the wall!"

"What?" he snapped. The mirror mistook his disbelief for concern.

"Don't worry, dear. She didn't hurt herself," it assured him gently.

"Indeed," he replied, disturbed that anyone had defiled his sanctuary.

_Not to mention what they could have found_, he thought, cringing. He had no desire to deal with that bottle of bezoars.

_Perhaps it was just a ghost,_ _but what ghost would come down here?_

Now that he thought of it, he wasn't even sure if ghosts _could_ enter his quarters. There was only one way to know for sure.

"She didn't touch anything, did she?" he asked the glass.

"Not while I was watching," it replied, "Although she did trip on that scroll behind you. You really need to clean up more often."

_So, not a ghost..._

Ignoring the mirrors chastising, he bent to pick up the scroll in question. Upon opening it, he breathed a sigh of relief.

_Just a shopping list..._

He rose back up to face the mirror.

_At least she didn't...wait, did it say 'while I was watching'? _

"'While you were watching'? Don't tell me you let her wander around without supervision?" he snapped, the disgust clear in his voice. The mirror ignored this, as usual.

"Well, I was asleep when she got here, and then I took a little nap while she was looking at your wands," it sang, completely oblivious as usual.

_What?!_

Severus slammed his hands down upon the dresser, the wood smacking under his strength.

"You what?!" he hissed.

"I had a nap when she was looking at your wands," it repeated, sounding slightly off-kilter.

"I thought you said she didn't touch anything else!" he snarled.

"Well, I told her not to before I dozed off," it replied haughtily, "And she was such a nice girl. I'm sure she wouldn't have done anything _bad_."

_We'll see about that, _Severus thought, glancing over at his wand jar. He froze.

_Surely not..._

He sifted his fingers through the jar, counting.

_One, two...three...four... No! _He thought. He whipped his head back up at the mirror.

"Wouldn't have done anything bad, you say?" he growled, "Then why is one missing?"

The glass gave off the impression that it was shrugging.

"I'm sure that if she took it, she had a good reason," it replied. Severus spluttered.

"A good-! What is wrong with you?!" he spat.

_Bloody glass._

He had suffered through the most terrible morning, only to come home to this. He snarled.

_It's always me..._

"What did she look like?" he demanded.

"What did who look like?" the glass replied, perplexed.

Severus smacked himself in the face out of aggravation.

"The _girl_, you fool," he ground out. The mirror sighed.

"Oh, she was lovely. Beautifully combed hair, neat clothes – gorgeous colour for her, too," it swooned. If Severus didn't know any better, he'd have thought that his dresser had fallen for the intruder.

"If you're done drooling over her like a dumb pup," he enunciated slowly, "Do you mind actually telling me what she looked like?"

"I just-" the mirror began.

"I meant her physical features," he barked, leaning his hooked nose in to the glass, "Her hair colour, her height, what she was wearing!"

"No need to be rude," the glass sniffed, although it proceeded to answer him anyway, "She had dark-ish hair, I think. Although I'm not quite sure what colour, exactly. The lighting in here is dreadful."

At Severus' glare, the mirror coughed, and decided to get back on track.

"I can't really say how tall she was. She was shorter than you, though," it continued.

_No, really? _The man thought, crossing his arms, _That helps me _so_ much._

The majority of the school's female population were a good deal shorter than him, being that most of them were _in their early teens_.

"She was wearing a dress," it finished, proudly, before swiftly adding, "It was a great choice. Really worked with her body shape."

Severus rolled his eyes. Trust the mirror to pay more attention to clothes, than to who was inhabiting them. He began to wonder what had made him purchase the idiot dresser in the first place, before he remembered that it had been the only thing he could afford at the time, being that it was ugly and scarred, and already so accustomed to abuse.

_Some help that was_, he thought, _I might as well just offer up a bounty to whoever can catch her first. Wanted: female wearing a dress._

He snorted at the idea.

_It sounds like a personal ad._

"So," he surmised, unimpressed, "she had hair of an indiscriminate colour, she was of an unknown height, and she _wore nice clothes_?"

"Exactly!" the mirror chirped cheerily.

"Any other wisdom you would like to impart upon me? Anything of actual merit?" he drawled.

"She asked who you were," it replied.

"And did you tell her?" he demanded.

"Yes!"

"Well, what was her reaction?" he questioned, leaning back from the mirror slightly, his hands still resting on the beaten wood. For some reason, awaiting the enchanted object's next answer made him nervous.

"She didn't really have one," it replied, tone hesitant. Its' master's questions were beginning to confuse it. Being as simple as it was, it could still recognise the tell-tale signs of anxiety – that was its job, after all, and it took great pride in it. Whatever Severus was thinking about, it had him greatly worried.

Oblivious to the mirror's musings – or that it even had the ability to muse – Severus continued to sift through his thoughts.

_Interesting,_ he thought,_ So, she didn't know these were my quarters, yet she knew how to get to them...and then she stole my wand even after she found out who I was..._

The idea intrigued Severus greatly. The majority of Hogwarts' population feared him, yet here was someone who had dared not only to intrude into his personal space, but to take one of his possessions. And they did not care who he was...

He felt he was missing something very simple, but was too tired to question it further. He rubbed a hand across his face. He needed sleep. This issue could be pursued later, when he felt less as though he'd been backhanded with The Brick of Dulled Senses.

"I'm going to bed," he told the mirror, "Don't wake me for anything."

"Whatever you say!" it chirruped, as Severus moved towards the bed. He flopped down upon the mattress, fully intending to pull the covers over him, but failed to make it that far. Within moments of laying down, the man was fast asleep.

* * *

Severus was having the most wonderful dream. He was in his bedroom, slipping in and out of a deep sleep, when suddenly, a silvery phantom shot into the room. It swooped around the ceiling, scenting him out. Then it dove straight for his face. Severus scrambled to back away from the ghostly thing, desperately seeking a means of escape with his hands until -

THUNK!

Severus groaned from his position on the floor. He attempted to stir, gingerly lifting himself from the ground, before skidding painfully back down the wall. After three attempts, he gave up on the action all together.

_Bloody hell, that was a painful dream... _

He held his head in his hand, and moaned pitifully, slowly opening his bed-heavy eyes.

"Kree!"

"Fuck!" he swore, a shimmering creature hovering mere centimeters from his face. Its beady eyes were trained on his face. The man blinked. It took him a moment to realise that the 'phantom' was Albus' patronus. The professor groaned again.

_What does he bloody want now?_ He thought, exasperated.

"Severus, I apologise for waking you at this hour, but could you be so kind as to make your way up to the hospital wing please? And bring some Dreamless Sleep with you. Thank you,"

Before him, the bird burst into white flame and disappeared.

Severus stared blankly at the space where it had been for a few seconds, star trails still pulsing brightly in his vision. He always found it disconcerting to hear the Headmaster's voice coming from within such a sprightly form, phantom or not.

_I hope he isn't calling me up there just so Poppy can have a piece of me for earlier..._

Rising unsteadily to his feet, the professor raised his wristwatch close to his nose, squinting at the faded numbers in the darkness. He really did need to obtain a new battery for the thing. Finally, he was able to make out the sequence 01:38AM.

_Now really_, he thought again, _what could he want at this hour?_

Curiosity appropriately aroused, Severus Snape went about collecting a few vials of the particular potion Dumbledore had specified, before stalking out his door, and into the gloomy Hogwarts night.

* * *

"So," he enunciated slowly, "You're saying that Miss Smith here was attacked?"

From beside him, Severus could hear the Head of Gryffindor sigh impatiently.

"I found Miss Smith staggering around the halls on the second floor. She appeared to be...well, drunk," the woman spluttered. She coughed, to regain her dignity, before continuing.

"But as you can see," she said, making a sweeping gesture towards a pile of clothes that were still on the ground, "it looks as though Miss Smith had a run in with some sort of problem on her way to the common room."

Severus stepped closer, bending over to inspect the pile of cloth. The front of which was entirely covered in dirt. And blood, he noted.

"It smells like she fell face down in a sewer," he commented dryly, still inspecting the dirtied attire.

_Just what has Smith been up to? _He pondered.

Turning to Minerva, he asked, "And she was found in this state?"

The elder woman nodded, "Yes. When I came across her, she had it all over her hands and face as well."

_Well, isn't that just disgusting..._

Severus tried not to wrinkle his nose. Although she did not often openly exert her feelings, the old woman cared very deeply about her students. She would have his head later for mentioning the fetid stench wafting off Smith's clothes more than once.

_Because no Gryffindor could ever be anything but a paragon of purity_, he thought, rolling his eyes. Still, Severus had been called here to help, and although he would never admit it he was curious.

"Where did you say Smith was when you found her?" he asked, raking his eyes over the girl's sleeping form. The ghostly paleness of her skin gave off the impression of her being ill, even in sleep. Minerva sighed again. She had already told him this three times since he had stormed into the hospital wing in a foul mood, not fifteen minutes ago - just as she had already related to him Miss Smith's energetic approach to sleeping, and mentioned that the Wing's supply of Dreamless Sleep had all expired at the end of last term - but Severus seemed otherwise distracted for once.

"Along the second floor corridor. She was clinging on for dear life to a suit of armour when I came across her. It was lucky I happened to walk by. She was barely lucid," Minerva chuckled mirthlessly, "Put up a great deal of fight when I tried to help her stay up, too. I don't think she recognised me."

_The second floor..._

There was something about it he couldn't quite put his finger on.

That was a fair distance from the Gryffindor common room, he knew. Whatever had happened to Miss Smith had either occurred very early in the evening, or she had chosen to sneak out after curfew. He decided that because no one had mentioned stumbling across her to a teacher earlier, it was probably the latter.

_Didn't I just explain to her we have rules for a reason?_ He grumbled to himself.

"Were there any other signs of trauma?" he questioned.

"None," Poppy piped in before the head of Gryffindor could speak, "No hexes, no wounds! It's almost as if she was just rolling around and caught a chill!"

The nurse spun away from her work, putting her hands on her hips.

"I've no idea how, but she's just gone and exhausted herself to this condition," the woman sounded indignant, "She was a step off of death's door when she arrived here. Almost dead!"

Severus could tell the woman was exaggerating, but not by much. Whatever had happened to the girl had left her in a precarious state. He frowned. If she had only heeded his earlier warning.

He scoffed, _She obviously can't follow basic instructions... Probably met with some dark magic..._

The thought disturbed him greatly. Hogwarts was supposed to be a safe-haven from such things.

_For now..._

Suddenly, another thought occurred to him, one that had been secretly niggling at him for hours. She had been lurking around near his chambers when he had last seen her, and she had seemed for a moment to be very uncomfortable at being seen there. He had put it down to fear of being caught insulting the most feared teacher at Hogwarts _by_ the most feared teacher in Hogwarts, but perhaps...

_What was she even doing all the way down there, anyway?_ He thought, piecing the puzzle together, _She wouldn't have..._

Severus glanced quickly over at the girl's bedside table, and his eyes widened. There, upon the slick linoleum surface of the table, sat his very first wand. Or, at the very least, one so similar to it in shape and size, that he had been fooled into thinking so for a moment. This wand differed from his own in several ways; for one thing, it was _one thing_, and bearing none of the disfiguring scars or scorch-marks of his own old siphon. Despite this, he still felt wary. To his knowledge, Miss Smith had not had a wand of her own this whole past week, and yet here one sat, a perfectly good, perfectly whole, undeniably _new_ wand on her bedside.

_Where did she get it? _The possibilities drove the man's head to spin.

Severus supposed that if Miss Smith had, indeed, taken his old wand, and managed to fix it, that it would quite adequately explain why she looked so very ill now.

_If she stole my wand, she should be dead now, _he countered, _But supposing she did... Supposing she managed to fix that old thing, then how did she accomplished such a feat?_

For a girl who had supposedly given up formal education at the age of fourteen, she certainly did appear accomplished in certain areas. Horace had even mentioned her as a potential member for his Slug Club – not that that particular honour meant much to him, but it did imply a general sufficiency in magical areas. Severus decided that from now on, he would have to keep a firm eye on this girl, as well. Regardless of whose wand may or may not be sitting on the bedside table, she had not had it earlier, and that was reason enough to be concerned.

_And yet again, I am saddled with stalking a minor_... he thought dourly, even as he admitted that he was choosing to do this of his own free will, this time, _If I could just check that wan-_

"Severus, what is your opinion on this matter?" the Headmaster called to him, distracting the younger professor with the twinkle in his eye. Severus could not help but notice it had never flickered, despite the gloomy situation.

_It's what he thrives on_, he thought, his inner voice taking on a snarl of annoyance.

"I'm afraid I don't have one," he replied plainly, noting Minerva's eyes flicker dangerously, out of the corner of his own.

_Here we go..._

"Perhaps you should pretend she belongs to your House, then," the woman replied scathingly, "You seem incapable of caring for anyone else."

Severus looked down his nose at her.

"Perhaps if I were to inspect the student, I would have an opinion," his voice was stale, but his heart thudded against his ribcage frantically. If he could get a bit closer, he would be able to know for sure about that wand of Smith's.

Thankfully, the Headmaster broke out into a cheek-splitting grin.

"Excellent idea, my boy!" he cried, waving the other wizard along, "Go right ahead, now."

Severus' mood lifted considerably for a moment, before he realised the change, and corrected it. There was no need to appear overly-eager. The man edged closer towards the bedside, fondling the wand in his pocket. He was close now. He began to whisper the incantation.

"_Acci-_"

"Mother..."

Severus' mind halted at that. He stared openly at the girl, noting that her breathing patterns had shifted. She began to stir, but just as quickly stopped. It wasn't a natural movement, he knew. She had frozen as soon as she noticed the conversation going on around her. Severus couldn't tell whether to think her curious or sneaky.

He tuned back into what the speakers were discussing, still keeping a keen eye on the increasingly deceptive Miss Smith.

"I'm not sure. I do not know what to make of this whole situation!" Poppy cried to the Headmaster, who as always, smiled endearingly, and replied, "It does seem just a bit odd, doesn't it?"

_Christ! He's worse than the dresser..._

Severus fought to keep his eyes from rolling on the spot.

"More than just a bit odd, Albus!" the matronly nurse was in hysterics, "A student has just been carried up to my ward, barely clinging to life. And we've no idea what happened to her!"

Minerva glared at the stocky little woman.

"Quiet, Poppy! You'll wake the girl!" she hissed. The stout woman opened her mouth wide, obviously about to give the older woman a lecture on who was breaching _whom_'s territory, but Snape decided to spare himself the headache, and cut in first.

"There is no need to worry about that," he replied, eyes on the wand sitting on the bedside table, "Miss Smith is already awake."

_And she has some explaining to do..._

* * *

**A/N: And now I crash. Hope you enjoyed!**_  
_


	9. In Which Memories Are Painted

A/N:_**Wow, guys! I think my support meter just went to new and unprecedented heights! I'm glad you're all enjoying it, especially since I couldn't really find an appropriate cut-off point for this chapter, and just kept going. As always, notes about reviews are at the bottom.**_

_**EXTRA: For those of you who review, I have a question. While I've been writing this fic, I've also been drawing art to go with each chapter (it's been a real project for me). My question is, would you like to be linked to my DeviantART to see these, or do you prefer the story without them? Majority wins!**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

Previously:

"There is no need to worry about that," he replied, eyes on the wand sitting on the bedside table, "Miss Smith is already awake."

And she has some explaining to do...

* * *

_**Second Entry:**__ I am no longer greeting you as my diary, because frankly, you are a very silent book. You don't even write back to me – don't you like me? Regardless, I intend to continue writing to you. To continue on from my previous __entry__, I shall start exactly where I left off. That is what is best, surely? Now, as eventful as my first week was, it was nothing compared to what happened next..._

* * *

When I awaken, I am alone, yet not. I can sense a warmth, or perhaps even...a friend? All around me, a darkness glitters tantalisingly, promising that it is not as plain as it seems; a child pretending to be a solemn adult. I've been here many times before. I know this darkness by heart.

_The Heart of Hogwarts,_ I realise slowly, _but how did I end up here_?

I stand, or rather, I believe myself to be standing, and so I am.

_That's odd..._

I usually am linked to my body whilst here. I should at least be able to feel it, shouldn't I? Before I am able to ponder this thought for too long, however, something explodes right above my head. I shriek, ducking away from the burst, before daring to look back up to determine the source of the explosion. The colour purple is leaking down toward me, encompassing the room at an even pace.

_What in the worl-_

BANG!

BANG!

SPLAT!

BOOM!

"Arggghhhh!" I squeal again, futilely attempting to avoid the explosions of colour around me. I make to run for safety, but everywhere is full; the ground, the walls, even the air around me is suddenly choked of its prospects.

CRASH!

A red soars through the air above, smashing into the floor a mere hand's width away from my face, bursting into cheery flame at the impact, and sparking across the ground. It is soon joined by a warm grey, one that leaks after its companion, and a startling green that splits and bounds airily in every direction. A whizzing sound behind me alerts me to yet another dashing ball of colour; a puce that barely misses me as I dropto the ground, and out of its range. I stay crouched there, panting, until I am certain I have heard the last colour pop into existence.

_Is the castle homicidal too, now?_ I wonder bitterly, and there is a pang in my chest as I remember Oroboros.

Chest burning with adrenaline and raw air, I dare to peek out from within the folds of my robes. The world around me is bright with colour, and surprisingly coherent. I appear to be in a garden of some sort – one that is not in Hogwarts. I cock my head. Something about this place is awfully familiar...like home.

"Salazar, do stop crying."

I jump at the address.

"I'm not," I reply crossly, before realising that there is no one here to talk to, save for the castle itself, and _she_ does not sound like that.

_Or she didn't before..._

"I'm not crying!" a trembling voice echoes, laced with a defiance that can not disguise the hurt behind it.

I whip around to where I believe the sound is coming from, searching for the source. When I greet it, my eyes widen. Before me, a young girl sits perched atop her mother's lap, layers of silken fabrics blending together so they almost seem to be one entity. A slight wind blows across the garden, stirring the females'hair, tangling the woman's glowing tresses with the girl's dark mane.

"Mother," the word escapes my lips, unbidden. I gasp, clasping my hand over my mouth, but the pair ignore me, the woman continuing to stroke the young girl's back as she sobs.

_That's me_, I realise, awe written across my face, as my mother coos softly at the younger version of myself. I wander closer to the scene playing out before me.

_Just what is Hogwarts doing?_ I wonder. I hadn't even known that the Heart could replicate memories,much less my own. I kept a tight hold over my mental shields. Had this ability been added to the school's soul after my own departure?

I reached out to stroke my mother's beautiful hair, but found that my hand went straight through her. I reeled back out of shock. I had half been expecting the very same to happen, yet was still unprepared when it had. Before me, Mother had managed to calm my sobbing to weak shudders, completely unfazed that someone had just shot their hand clean through her head.

"Zari," she cooed out the nickname for me that only she and father were permitted to use, to get my attention. It did in both cases.

"What has put you into such a perilous state of upset? Everything will be alright. We'll talk to your father about fixing it, hmm?" she suggested calmly.

"But it's not alright!" the girl cried, "No one cares for me!"

"That's not true," the mother said, nursing the small girl, "I care for you. Your father cares for you."

The girl huffed.

"That doesn't count. You have to care, even when you don't want to," she sniffled grumpily.

Mother looked to be increasingly amused by my antics.

"I do want to, darling," she smiled sincerely, and so beautifully that the younger me instantly stopped frowning and nuzzled closer in to the woman's breast.

"Then no one else does," I stated morosely, closing my eyes.

My mother paused then, thoughtful.

"Do you know what your name means, little Salazar?" she asked. The girl shook her head, no. Mother smiled.

"I'll tell you," she said, speaking in that warm voice I'd only ever heard her use, "It's a very special name."

"What does it mean?" the girl asked, moving closer in the curious state.

"Ssssaaaaaahhhhl eeeesssssssaaaaaaaaa," her woman hissed. _Loved one._

"And regardless of where you are," she continued, rocking her daughter gently, "or who you are with, you will always find love, and it will always come to you."

The little girl looked up at her mother in awe.

"Truly?" child-me inquired, causing Mother to chuckle softly.

"Truly," she replied earnestly, kissing her daughter on the head, before adding, "Well, maybe not while you're looking like this. How is it supposed to recognise your pretty face when you're covered in dirt?"

The little girl giggled in her mother's arms as the scene faded away. Yet, even in the blackness, her voice echoed on.

_What was that about...?_ I wondered, left by myself in the emptiness that suddenly did seem void of everything.

"Salazar, pay attention."

The world around me suddenly filled once more with colour once more, and I was blinded by the bright gaudiness of it all.

A sigh.

"I'm sorry," a girl's voice responded in earnest, "I'm just having so much trouble with this."

"Which part?" the first voice replied, whole and compassionate, as a youth strode across my line of vision.

_Godric? _I thought.

It didn't take me long to realise that I was once more at my childhood home, on the verandah this time, and that the lanky wizard was heading towards a break in the rails. I followed him, and he leaned over the railing to peer into the bushes.

"You can't hide down there forever, you know?" he called. I peeked over the edge with him, only to find my own face gazing back up, eyes slightly unfocused. The wizard beside me continued, "You're going to get me thrown out onto the streets if you don't start focusing on your studies soon, you know?" he said, grinning. I could even then hear the worried undertone carried in his words, "Your parents don't pay me to let you hide in the bushes all day." The other me scowled.

"They don't pay you at all," she said bitterly, "It's my grandfather who wanted a tutor, and all his wife has done since then is attempt to convince him to let you go."

"Exactly," the boy said, jumping over the rails to sit next to me. He poked his face into mine comically, "And you're not helping! My reputation will be ruined if I can't even get a tiny little girl to follow my simplest instructions. Now, will you please collect what little manners you have, and take them back onto the porch for training?"

I smacked him over the head with my book.

"_You're_ not helping!" I cried in frustration, "I do not need to learn any manners – I have them well enough. I simply do not wish to use them in the company of that _hag_!"

I growled, before adding, "And since when has it ever mattered what a 'little girl' does? Anyone would just think that I was too stupid to be taught by such a talented _man_, and then we'd all be happy!"

Godric sighed and shook his head, "Will you never get it, girl? Stupid you are not, but you can certainly be stubborn enough to fool one into believing so! What will it achieve by you upsetting your grandfather over '_that hag_'? I thought you liked him?" he accused. The other me glared. Just when I began to think he had said all he had to say, Gryffindor's mouth burst back into action.

"And you'll be needing a fair few shots more of self-discipline before your manners will ever pass in society. Good luck finding a suitor while your idea of a proper greeting is still 'sod off, toad spawn'!" he raved.

"Only special people receive that greeting," I replied haughtily, "And besides, I am not getting married."

Godric laughed, "You tell me that again in another ten years time, when you're nursing your seventh child. Don't all purebloods get married?"

"Oh, what would you know!" I snapped back, my tone vicious, "You are too poor for it to matter whether you wed or not! No one is watching for your family to die out!"

The youth recoils from me, as if he has been bit by a snake. From where I am, I cannot see the hurt in his eyes, but I remember it vividly enough that it feels as if I can.

The other me exhales.

"God, that's not what I meant. I mean that...I just want to live for something," I chuckle heartlessly, "It doesn't even matter if I marry. My family has nowhere to go – we're already considered important enough for my parents, and I am a woman. I'll never be able to inherit any of this; not if _Grandmother_," I force myself to say the word, "has her way. I'd be expected to change my name if I married, and she is too much of a purist to accept..."

The body below me begins to shake, and I turn away, my cheeks burning. I know myself to have been sobbing. The same thoughts had been gnawing at me for months, ever since...

"Don't cry," Godric whispers from beneath the railing, "You're too tough to cry."

The sobbing grows louder, each one falling upon the others, until suddenly, it stops.

"Godric," I say, my voice wavering and muffled, "I've been thinking. My cousins...I might join them..."

The youth jerked away in shock.

"You cannot," he whispered urgently, eyes wide, "No Sal, you can't! You could stay there all your life, and it would be like a day to them! You could die, and they would never even mourn you!"

"Who says I want to be mourned? Death is not a painful thing!" I rebuked, childish words from a childish girl, "I'd take it over thisssss!" I hissed in my anger.

Suddenly, Godric was grabbing my arms, yanking me roughly towards him. I had been shocked then by the ferocity which shattered in his usually calm demeanour, and still was now.

"Never say that again," he hissed, as I struggled against his bruising grip.

"Let me go!" I demanded. Gryffindor snarled.

"Not until you promise me you'll never say that again," he ordered, shaking me, "Promise!"

"What is your bloody problem?" I grunted, attempting to twist my arms out of his grip.

"My problem?" he scoffed, "You are the one who thinks they are alone. You think the only person who wants you is yourself! It makes you selfish. All you ever do is skulk around in the forests, doing bloody Merlin knows what with dangerous creatures-"

"Those creatures are my family, you arse!" I snarl, finding the strength to pull myself free, scrambling to my feet and as far away from the youth as I can, "Or had you forgotten? And what do you know of them, anyway?"

Gyffindor suddenly looks repentant, but he persists.

"Sally, I know creatures. I've read about them-"

I scoff.

"In books! And that's all they will ever stay to you – creatures bound together by ink and lies! You do not see the flesh; the heart, or the essence. All you know is writ in this frigid little tome," I lifted the book in my hand high above my shoulder, before slamming it into the ground, "And that is all you will ever know. You don't understand Gryffindor. You don't even try."

At this, I storm away towards the very forest my companion had mentioned. Or I try to. I had not yet taken my third stride towards it when a firm grip jerks me back to the house. I am swift to action.

"I said to let me go, Godric," I ground out, without deigning to face him. I knew that it would hurt him more than any other snub I could imagine. Gryffindor hated to be ignored. His reply, then, was strangely gentle.

"Never."

I whipped around, my arm burning in his grip.

"What?" I spat.

"Come with me," he pleaded, "If you have to go anywhere else away from here, come with me."

I am suspicious.

"Why?" I ask. His face is pained.

"Because I do not want to see you waste your life any more than you do. A-and..." he stutters here, running his free hand through his wild hair, "this is hard for me to admit, but you're the only true friend I've ever had."

Gyrffindor reddens, his trademark blush spreading, and he peeks up at me from under his lashes.

"I don't think I could ever find someone truer to how they feel; at least not someone who is truthful in expressing their opinion of me," he smirked, "I know this probably surprises you, but for all the years we've been in each other's acquaintance, I view you as a sister. I know it might seem childish-"

"For Merlin's sake, Godric," I sigh, "I can hardly remember a day of my life when you weren't there to correct me on something. Of _course_ you're my friend, too. And you are usually a very good one."

I lift my hands from his, to tilt his face towards me, "And I would love nothing more than to travel with you. I only did not suggest so, because I believed you would not want me to come along."

The man looked puzzled, "Why ever would you think that?"

I laughed.

"A large part of it has to do with my 'truthfulness', as you kindly put it," I tilted my head, "And another, equally large part was influenced by the general effect my heritage has on others. I did not believe you would want to be caught up under the influence of that kind of stigma. I guess you are right – I believe myself to be alone too often."

"Then it's settled!" he roared, "Once you have finished your education to a satisfactory standard, and I am no longer needed, I shall steal you away with me for a grand adventure!"

"But where will we go?" I tsked playfully, "We can't very well have a 'grand adventure' if we don't know the path."

"But of course we can, Lady!" he replied, bowing low, and equally playful. Suddenly, I was being spun in giddy circle, squealing into the shoulder of a deep red coat, "We'll just make ourselves so dizzy we can barely stand, and follow the path that's bumpiest!"

"And what if we get lost?" I pestered, feet back on the ground, and leaning against my friend for support. Gryffindor tweaked my nose, which made me scowl.

"Then we'll just have to continue on until we're not," he reasoned.

"And if that fails?" I ask, looking steadily into my companions tawny eyes. I recall truly thinking, _What if we do fail?_

"Then at least we'll remember," he replied, equally serious, "Remembering is just as important as believing."

"Believing is just as important as doing," I continued in a hushed tone.

"And no one ever truly fails," he ended, before adding jokingly, "Except you, of course. What kind of lady allows herself to be picked up by strange men?"

I punched his arm, eliciting a startled groan. Godric glared at me playfully, rubbing his injured arm.

"What was that for?" he whined. I smile.

"What kind of man handles a lady so inappropriately? Shame on you, Gryffindor. Weren't you ever raised to have manners?" I mocked.

"Slytherin," he replied calmly, "I believe that it would be in your best interests to run, now."

"And why is that?" I retaliate, already tiptoeing backwards. Godric grins madly.

"Because," he starts, stalking towards me, "I am soon going to become the most inappropriate man in existence, and drop you in the pond."

"You wouldn't!" I gasp, but I am already streaking away, because I know that he would.

"Ladies don't run, Slytherin!" he calls before giving chase.

At that moment, the image begins to fade, and I am soon back in the Heart, left once more to blackness.

_Alone again,_ I sigh, still wondering what is going on.

I jump at sudden contact to my head.

"Such a handsome girl..." a voice croons, as spindly fingers bind themselves in my hair.

_I know this_... I thought.

A woman's fingers combed through my locks.

"Such a handsome girl," she repeats, "It really is a pity you've taken after that harlot."

I could feel the fingers still in my hair, before it fell from their grasp.

"Such a disgusting colour..." the voice faded back into the darkness, and I shuddered.

The hair that spilled over my shoulders was white.

The encounter leaves me panicked.

I find myself to be shaking, pulling in rattling breaths one at a time. I try to calm myself with the knowledge that I can't stay here forever; surely, I will get to leave soon? Composing myself, I force myself to wait patiently. This time, I am alone long enough to realise what is wrong with this familiar place – there is no light, and there is becoming less by the minute. I can feel the energy draining from my spectral body, spreading across the castle until I am too calm to protest my own absence. Just when I finally begin to believe myself truly gone, another voice resounds around me in the empty space; that of my mother.

"Remember," she sighs, the sadness traced deep into her words, "you are more than what they expect you to be; when you realise that, you will no longer belong to them – you will be yours once more..."

The voice disappears, and I am left to fend off the void once more, before her voice returns, a dim shadow of even the shadow it was before.

"...And for what it matters, I have always loved you for whatever you choose to be..."

* * *

This time the darkness is different; where before it was bright and full of so much potential, it is now dull, and suffocating. I am blind.

_Am I in a bed?_ I ask myself, realising that I am no longer vertical. I make to stand up, but halt when sound comes rushing back to me. I hear voices.

"What do you think did this to her?" Somebody asked in hushed tones.

"I'm not sure. I do not know what to make of this whole situation. It seems just a bit odd, doesn't it?"

"More than just a bit odd, Albus! A student has just been carried up to my ward, barely clinging to life. And we've no idea what happened to her!"

_Have I? Why?_ I wondered, assuming it was me they were conversing about.

"Quiet, Poppy! You'll wake the girl."

"There is no need to worry about that," a familiar voice drawled, and I almost groaned, "Miss Smith is already awake."

The space around me suddenly echoed with silence. I could feel the tension in the room as if it were an actual corporeal thing. I knew everyone was now watching me. I thought of continuing to falsify my slumber, but decided it would look too suspicious of me to do so. Professor Snape was unusually perceptive, as I had found in class, and I was of the distinct opinion that the other teachers trusted his judgement a great deal more than mine. They would not believe he had made a mistake in thinking that I was awake.

_Damn him! _I thought, forcing my eyes open, and propping myself up against a rough feather pillow.

A witch I had not yet met bustled over to my bedside, looking thoroughly put out.

"You shouldn't be awake yet, young lady!" she exclaimed angrily, "You're too weak yet."

"_Excussse me_?" I snarled, glowering at her. I knew that I should not be so disrespectful, but something, somewhere in my mind, was telling me I had the right to be in a very bad mood. Something that had nothing to do with Hogwarts forcing me to relive a life I would probably never again have.

_Just who does she think she is? _I thought.

My vicious reply appeared to shock the woman in front of me, and I could have sworn the hazy figures in the background had stilled even more in their movement.

From beside me, I heard Professor Snape sigh.

"Miss Smith, please try to control yourself. You have very nearly just died, and it is Madam Pomfrey who has brought you back to health."

I turn to glare at him. I had assumed he was amongst the ranks of the shadowy figures I could not yet make out, not hovering over my bedside, gazing at me like I was a particularly nasty disease.

"Professor,"I greeted, finding both my tone and my brow too slack for my liking. I was far too tired to be mad anymore. Despite what these people seemed to think, I had not been sleeping at all, merely disconnected from my body.

_Which is troubling..._

I was distracted from my half-baked musings by the kindly figure of Professor Dumbledore drawing nearer.

"Miss Smith," he smiled, "It is a great relief to see you awake."

I regard him warily for a moment before replying, "Thank you, Professor."

The Headmaster nods.

"I was wondering, dear, that if you are feeling up to it, we might have a word?" he queried from behind the horn-rimmed glasses that only served to amplify his glittering eyes. His question was instantly met with protest from the bystanders.

"Albus! She is a sick child!" Professor McGonagall cried.

"I absolutely refuse to allow you to pester a critical patient!" the nurse insisted.

Professor Snape merely curled back his upper lip and said, "Are you sure that is wise, Professor? I have not yet completed my inspection of the girl."

I glanced at the dark-haired man from out the corner of my eye. Something in his voice told me he was up to no good, and Dumbledore had interrupted him.

_I had better watch my back,_ I decided.

The chattering went on, growing louder and louder, until the Headmaster raised his arms. Silence reigned.

"I believe," he said amusedly, "that it is up to Miss Smith to decide whether she is well enough for a discussion."

"I don't think-" the stout little nurse began to protest again, but one look from the Headmaster silenced her. All eyes were once again trained on me.

"I feel well enough for that," I state. I could swear Professor Snape was trying to pierce holes through me with his eyes.

_I do believe my breathing could set that man off on a bad day, _I decide.

Professor Dumbledore clasps his hands together gleefully, "In that case," he remarks, "would you all mind?"

Despite their earlier protests, the rest of the Hogwarts staff leave the room, and me at the Headmaster's mercy.

_I hope this isn't going to be an interrogation.._.

The old man smiles and sits on my bedside.

"Well, Miss Smith," he begins, "I do believe we haven't had the time to properly become acquainted."

I looked at him warily, "No," I replied, "I do not believe we have."

Dumbledore grinned wider, "Then please allow me to rectify that. As you most likely already know, I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts."

I bow my head respectfully, "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," the Professor agrees, before his face turns serious, "Now, I do not wish to alarm you Miss Smith, but you appear to have suffered great injury earlier this evening. Do you recall how?"

_What?_

I wrack my brain, but where tonight should have been, I find a blank space. The whole day is missing. I shake my head.

"I'm sorry, Professor," I say, "I can not even recall this morning."

The Professor nods in understanding.

"That is quite alright," he says tenderly, "I would also like to inquire; how is the search for your missing companions coming along?"

_Missing companions? Wha-? Oh. Right_.

I stare at a point just past the Professor's head.

"I'm afraid I have not had the time to begin searching for them, Professor," I say, " I have spent the past week in detention."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore replies sagely, "I believe Professor Snape wanted me to talk to you about that. It seems you've had quite the exciting first week. Although personally, I do think his judgement has been a tad harsh. You must have been quite tired from your journey at the time."

I nod.

"I was, but I still apologise for my behaviour this past week. I have been finding it hard to," I search for the right word, "adjust."

Dumbledore's eyes glow with pity.

"I believe that under the circumstances, you should be relieved of any further detentions you may have, Miss Smith," he says, his voice kind.

I look up at the bearded man with surprise.

"Are you sure Professor?" I ask hopefully. He nods.

"Oh yes. I believe you have learned your lesson, would you not agree?"

His eyes sparkle as he talks and I nod eagerly, like a ridiculous first year.

"I would also like your permission to change your class schedule around somewhat. As it is, you have only experienced a very few of the courses available at Hogwarts. What do you say you trial some of the others this next week, before deciding which classes to take?" he suggested.

"That sounds fine with me!" I answer enthusiastically, simply glad to be rid of detention.

"That's settled, then," he states, patting my knee through the hospital blanket, "I realise you must be very tired, Miss Smith, but I have one last question to ask."

"Yes?" I query.

"What are your companions' names?" he asks, "Perhaps with that knowledge, I could help you to locate them?"

_Shite!_

I lower my head out of apparent sadness, but it is more of a calculated gesture to ensure that the man does not see me panicking to come up with names for these 'friends' of mine.

_Names! Of all things, names! I should have been prepared!_

"I was travelling with my sister Dryadia Smith," I begin, searching my mind for more names, "Elvendork – I don't know his last name, we just met, and..."

_Damn! What else?_

Another name pokes its way to the surface, bringing with it a horrific pain. I can suddenly remember all that has happened this past day with pristine clarity.

"Oroborus..." I whisper.

The Professor takes this as his cue to leave, patting me on the leg once more, and ensuring that he will try his best to find my friends. Then, I am left alone, and the only solace I can take from this day is that it would have been too dark to distinguish the pale white snakes from my light skin when I was re-clothed.

* * *

The matron refused to let me out of the hospital wing until late Wednesday afternoon, and even then only because my 'constant nitpicking was intolerable'. I decided to disagree with her there. I could hardly be called stuffy for wanting my own space. Being fussed over was not something I was used to, and I preferred it that way. Especially since what I really wanted to do was mourn the murder of my beloved familiar. Although I had known it before, seeing Oroboros laying there in...that state had really driven it home for me that I was _alone_. This put me in such a sour mood, that when I finally returned to classes the following morning, half of Gryffindor were giving me the cold shoulder, and the other half were avoiding me out of fear I would curse them. It did not help that my first class happened to be Muggle Studies.

As the Headmaster had suggested, my class schedule had been rotated so I could get a feel for all the subjects on offer. I'd rather boil my head in a cauldron. Honestly. To make way for the studying of muggles (whatever the point of that was), Divination, and Care of Magical Creatures, I had been forced to give up Herbology (which no one ever cared about anyway, except Helga when she was insisting that I needed to know how to grow the plants I used), Transfiguration, and my beloved Potions. Yet I was still forced into taking Ancient Runes, and Defence, even when I despised one, and was constantly offended during the other. I was not feeling particularly diplomatic. In an effort to express that fact, I made myself fifty minutes late for class, and promptly explained to the tutor – one Professor Burbage - that I was deeply involved in resurrecting Mordred the Muggle Slayer, and as such found it necessary to skip almost half her lecture. For my efforts I was awarded yet another minus twenty points for Gryffindor. This only won me popularity, of course.

_Good,_ I thought, _If they are so intent on seeking evil, then that is what I will give them. _

I felt immature, and that in itself was deeply gratifying. I even entertained the notion of skipping Astronomy that night. I wouldn't of course. Getting formally booted out of Hogwarts would only make it harder on me; to explain why it was a physical impossibility for me to leave the school's grounds under any influence but that of my own free will. Still, I _hated_ staying up past midnight.

Checking my schedule, I noted that Divination was next. I did not even pretend to not know the way to the room number scrawled underneath my Professor's name. I simply made my way there, down the well-worn path to what had been Rowena's secret hiding place. I wondered when the disillusionment wards had failed on this particular tower, but found that only made me irritated. Our magic wasn't supposed to wear off. Unlike most of the spells of today, these charms were designed to last. Even Slytherin Keep had managed to exist in pristine perfection for two thousand years before my birth, and no one wanted to live there – the draught was awful. I wondered if it still stood now, and if so, who had inherited it.

_Probably no one_, I reasoned, _You'd have to be mad to dive into that mess of traps. It'd have been forgotten, if not intentionally abandoned._

I sometimes wondered how my father and grandfather had managed to grow up there. My first memory of the place involved very narrowly escaping a beheading at the hands of a frighteningly determined Caedere charm. I grimaced at the memory. Mother had also shortly caught ill from being exposed to all the rusted iron. She'd been bedridden for three weeks after, with Father almost completely forgetting my existence during that time. Of course, I forgave him immediately at the prospect of a new locket. It was a pretty thing; pure gold, with a jewelled 'S' emblazoned on it. I had rarely taken it off since, save for bathing. Unfortunately, the morning of my little Gryffindor-induced disaster, I had forgotten to put it back on afterwards. Instead, I had left it on the brewing table in my chambers. I wondered what had become of it. I certainly hoped it had fallen into good hands; preferably very weak ones. I wanted it back.

Distracted as I was, I nearly ran up another girl's skirt climbing the ladder into the 'classroom' – a Ravenclaw girl who looked distinctly displeased at the unnecessary contact.

"Sorry," I muttered, more to soothe my own smarting conscious, than to win back her favour.

Inside the classroom, I was instantly overwhelmed by the stink of overlapping incense sticks, smoking up the tower so that it was hard to see. The red curtains were partially drawn, allowing in only enough light to shine through the smog. I had the feeling that whomever had decorated the room was trying to create a mysteriousness about it, but had failed. All it they had managed was to provoke my allergies.

"Ahhh-ahhh-ACHOO!"

"Oh, bless you, dear. I'd mind the third floor stairs if I were you, by the way."

A hand fell upon my shoulder, and I turned to find a very oddly attired woman smiling down at me. She was the one Hermione had avoided speaking in front of earlier, I recalled. My brow furrowed.

"Why ever would I do that?" I asked. After all, I was required to use the stairs every day to reach my classes, and the Great Hall. To use the various hidden passages around the school instead would likely rouse suspicions – something I did not need – and teleporting was almost definitely out of the question. I had yet to see any other do such things.

The woman seemed surprised, her eyes bulging from behind her thick lenses.

"Because I foresee you having an accident," she said plainly.

_Alright then... _

I was sceptical. From what I had heard from Hermione (before I had snapped at her to stop rattling on about subjects no one cares for), Divination wasn't exactly the most accurate subject at Hogwarts, her opinion of the Professor of said subject was abysmally low, and anyone who took it was either daft, or lazy, or both. At this, she had glared over at her best friends, who were playing a game involving coloured rectangles of parchment, and a lot of exploding. Despite this, I had managed to pep myself up enough about the class to actually attend it, forgoing my original plan of sending in a double, and slipping back down to the dungeons for a few necessities I hadn't the time to snatch earlier; namely, undergarments. I soon regretted my decision. Professor Trelawney was eccentric at best, and a crock otherwise. She managed to somehow to predict my doom no less than three separate times in one lesson, before mentioning some nonsense about being of 'evil seed'.

_I did not need a glittering dementor to tell me that,_ I thought, amused by my own witty description of the be-shawled woman, _She is quite friendly,_ I admitted, _but the poor dear tries too hard. I wonder if we had met under any other circumstances if we could have been friends?_

I hummed wistfully.

_I really do miss talking to people my own age. Not that acting like a teenager doesn't have its perks...like not being corrected for 'unseemly' behaviour every other minute, and being allowed to be petty, and vain, and listening to my roommates fluttering over which teacher is the 'hottest', whatever that means... How is being 'hot' attractive? I'm quite attracted to men of average temperature... _

Here, I pause.

_Because I'd know what being attracted to someone is like! _

I chuckle under my breath. There had never been time for those things. Men of my 'class' tended to be snooty, old-fashioned, bigots, and men of my intellectual calibre were either dreadfully vain, or truly asinine outside of what they could regurgitate. That left Godric, and there was no way I would consent to being courted by what was essentially my _brother_, especially when he and-

"Class dismissed!" Trelawney called from the front of the classroom, clasping her hands, "And don't forget to continue on your dream journal for this year. Smith, are you right to start a new one tonight, dear?"

The woman blinked owlishly at me for a few seconds before I registered what she had just said. When I do, I nod.

"Of course, Miss," I respond politely. The Professor smiled.

* * *

After classes had finished, I made my way to the school Library, taking particular care on the third floor stairwell. Despite my scepticism of Professor Trelawney's skill as a genuine seer, I was in half a mind to believe what she had said. However, as predicted, no ill befell me simply by scaling a staircase. I rolled my eyes. I was being silly again.

_Better to be a safe fool, than a dead one_, I thought, entering the Hogwarts' Library through open doors. Finally, I had time to _study_. I silently thanked Dumbledore for cutting my detention streak short. The sooner I found a way home, the sooner I could get back to whacking students (and Godric) about the ears with textbooks, beating the knowledge into them with a passionate severity unlike anything they had ever experienced!

_I should really stop thinking about students and Godric at the same time,_ I decided sheepishly, _It makes me sound homicidal. _

I now walked over to the Head Librarian's desk, my pace slowing to a casual clop.

_Time to put the plan into motion._

Grinning broadly, I held out my hand to the woman – an unfortunate-looking creature by the name of Madam Pince – a small, square piece of parchment folded between my fingers. The woman eyed the note warily, not shifting a muscle towards me.

_She's such a friendly woman_, I commented dryly, _looks like I'll have to use my charm_.

Slipping into my 'student voice' as I had dubbed it, I said, "I have a note to get something out of the Restricted Section, from Professor Dumbledore."

When the woman still didn't reply, I continued with, "It's to help me catch up with my Ancient Runes lessons. I'm a little bit behind the curriculum," I furrow my brow, "I think it's called _Rune...Rune_..." I trailed off, sneaking a look at the parchment.

"_Ancient Runes of Transportation_," I finished confidently.

Of course, I knew exactly what I was looking for. Hence why I had forged this note in Charms whilst everybody else was scrawling down nonsense off the blackboard relating to the Aguamenti charm.

Madam Pince snapped up my parchment, scrutinising every last letter thoroughly, before snipping out, "Very well," and trotting off to the Restricted Section. I briefly wondered if she was related to Snape. Then I dismissed that thought, because Professor Snape was significantly more intrusive, whereas this woman would be indistinguishable in a crowd, save for her piercing stare. It was then that she returned with the very book I had been searching for, and it felt as if a massive weight had been lifted from me. The thick volume was clothed in dust, worn, torn, battered, and stank distinctly of mildew, but it was _here_. I grinned.

"Thank you, Miss," I replied, gratitude flooding my voice. The woman glared.

"You must take very good care of that," she said in the most persnickety manner I had ever heard, "That is a very rare book. It's due back next Sunday."

_And you will be getting it back when I am done with it_, I thought, still smiling outwardly.

"Of course. Thank you," I repeated.

_What a fussy, old... Be nice, Sal._

My next task involved finding a suitable table, where I could sit and 'study' in peace, but I hadn't taken two steps when another thought crossed my mind. I turned back to face the librarian, smiling sweetly.

"By the way, Miss," I said, "Would you be able to point me in the direction of any books on the Founders?"

The woman scowled, but flicked her wand above what I assumed was a catalogue, and rattled off, "_The Founding of Hogwarts_ by Cumulus Storm, _Slytherin's Betrayal_ by Alcmene Lunaris, and _Hogwarts: A History_ by Bathilda Bagshot."

Upon completing her speech, she stared back up at me glumly. I nodded unsure of whether or not to feel offended.

"Thank you, again, Miss" I said, tiptoeing off into the depths of the Library. Once obscured by the shelves, I accioed the aforementioned books to me, checking around once more that I was alone. I stared at the book on the top of the pile for a good ten seconds, engraving its silver-gold lettering into my mind.

_Slytherin's Betrayal, huh? What is that supposed to mean? _

I pushed the thought aside.

_I'll find out when I read it, _I decided, now more fixated on the immediate problem of finding a seat in the crowded archives. After a few minutes, I saw an open seat with a group of Gryffindor fifth and sixth years sitting around it. I inhaled deeply, recalling my foul mood that morning.

_Here goes..._

I walked up to the group cautiously, clearing my throat when they did not look up immediately.

"Hey," I muttered, fidgeting.

"Hey," a girl replied; the one called Ginny. She was clearly distracted from her work. I coughed.

"Can I...can I, um, sit with you?" I spluttered. I felt myself going red.

"Yeah," Harry's reply was soft; I could tell he was still wary of me. I was beginning to regret telling him to sod off this morning. I sat down anyway, looking at the faces around me. Besides Ginny, and Harry, there were four other people already at the table. Sitting on either side of me were Seamus and Ron, as well as Hermione, and a blonde girl I hadn't seen before.

_So not all Gryffindors_, I amended.

I shuffled in my seat.

"Um...I'm sorry about this morning, everyone," I admitted quietly, "I found out recently that someone very close to me was – has died. I know that's not an appropriate excuse for what I did, but I do apologise, and I hope you don't hate me too much."

"S'alright," Ron murmured, eyes still trained on his parchment, "We all have our bad days."

I smiled shyly, "Thank you, Ronald."

At this, he looked up, mouth stretched into a smile, "Don't worry about it. You weren't actually much worse than Snape on a good day."

"Thanks," I said, glaring.

Harry nodded along; muttered "I can understand what you did," and went back to his work.

I could tell he did.

"Still, I regret my actions," I insisted.

"But he's right," the blonde girl added, "It's a terrible thing to lose someone you love. Sometimes you have a right to be angry."

She, too, seemed grief-stricken for a moment.

_I wonder what they've been through? _I thought sadly. Certainly more than they should have been.

There was then a friendly silence where only the ruffling of pages could be heard, and I took this as my cue to start reading. Sifting through my small pile, I began with the largest book there was – the one entitled _Hogwarts: A History_. I had barely begun scanning through the contents when I was interrupted again.

"What are you reading?" Hermione asked inquisitively. I lifted the book to show her the cover.

"I wanted to get a better idea of the School's history," I explained, and she nodded.

"I can understand that, since you're new," she admitted, wrinkling her brow, "Where did you come from, again?"

_Shite._

"Oh, I'm a bit of a traveller," I laughed her off.

_Yeah, a time traveller. _

"But I grew up on the fen," I concluded. I failed to mention just which fen.

_Better to let them believe they know the truth, than to conceal it_...

"Are you a muggleborn?" Ginny inquired, peering at me through her stack of Astronomy texts, now even more distracted from her classwork.

"No," I replied, a bit too quickly and harshly.

"I'm a half-blood," I corrected softly.

"Me too!" said Seamus, a little too loud for the stern librarian's taste.

"Shhhhh!" she hissed, making us all jump. Seamus reddened.

"Me too," he repeated in a whisper. I grinned.

"There's not really much interesting in that book, you know," Ron mentioned, getting back on track. He was squinting at his parchment so intently that he missed Hermione's glare.

"Hogwarts: A History is a very important book," she insisted, "It's a completely comprehensive history of the entire-"

"Hermione, most wizards know everything that's in that book by the time they can speak," Ron insisted, still not looking up, "What the ruddy hell is a '_Hecate effect_'?"

"It's what happens when you mix two non-corrosive substances together in potions. For example, if I were to give you give you horn of unicorn, and goblin's nails, and asked you to put them in the same cauldron, the effects of the potion being brewed would triple," I explain.

Ron leaned closer to me, conspiratorially.

"Are you Snape in a dress?" he whispered.

"Shut up," I growled, batting him away, but I could not keep from smiling for long. He reminded me quite a lot of Godric, actually. Hermione frowned at the two of us.

"You should be catching up on homework, you know," she chastised, before addressing me directly, "I've collected it all for you, by the way," she rustled around in her bag until the correct papers were produced, then handed them out to me, "I know you've transferred classes, but you're going to need to know this if you decide to change back. Some of it should be common knowledge anyway."

Ginny scoffed at this, but I smiled gratefully as I took the papers from her hands. I was just glad to have been forgiven.

"Thank you, Hermione. I'll get right on to it later."

"Make sure you do," she said, and just like that, we were back in silence.

Or at least we were until I reached the section of my book on the feud between Gyffindor the Good and Slytherin the Shrewd. I raised my eyebrows.

_This should be interesting_, I thought, reading on.

_Godric Gryffindor openly supported the inclusion of muggleborns into the Hogwarts' school system. However, his companion, Salazar Slytherin, was greatly opposed to the idea. The two fought over this subject on a regular basis, the spats gradually escalating in severity, until one day the unbreakable duo duelled in the school's Entrance Hall, destroying a large portion of the room. After this fight, it is said the wounded Slytherin slunk away, never to be seen again_. _The Hall was soon repaired._

"What?" I all but shouted. Everyone at the table started.

"Are you alright, Sal?" someone asked.

There was something that had struck me about that paragraph, and it had nothing to do with the general inaccuracies. To confirm my hunch, however, I needed to consult a certain tome only available to me in one place.

_I've got to go back to my chambers. NOW._

"Huh?" I looked around for my bag, tipping the books into it roughly, "Yeah, I'm fine. I just realised I have somewhere I need to be."

I smiled fleetingly in the general direction of the table's occupants, rose to my feet, and fled the library. I was on my way down the first set of stairs when they suddenly jerked to the left. I groaned.

_Oh, please do not tell me the staircases are broken as well? _I pleaded, demanding the steps turn back to their original path. They did so immediately. Not three seconds later, did they fling themselves violently in the opposite direction once more.

_Go right!_ I practically screamed, and the stairs swerved to the right with equal vigour.

"Oof!" the sound came from behind me, accompanied by a dull thudding.

"Hey! Gerroffmeee!" a girl squealed.

"I'm sorry, your highness!" the first girl – for I now recognised the voice as that of a woman – cried sarcastically, "Please forgive me for my insubordination! Is there anything I can do to have you forgive me?"

"Stop fooling around!" the second one hummed good-naturedly, "We're on a mission, remember!"

"Yeah, a mission to fill your belly!" the first one jested, closer to me than before.

_I don't care where you're going_, I thought, _Staircase: right!_

The staircase then swung so swiftly in both directions, that I was flipped over the side of the railing I had been clinging too.

"AGHH!"

Just before I fell to my doom, something snatched me right back over the wooden barrier, onto the cold, hard steps.

"T-th-thanks..." I puffed, heart racing, "I don't know how to thank-"

But when I raised my head, the words were wiped from my tongue.

_It can't be...surely...?_

"Ro," a short, blonde girl whined from behind the tall redhead standing in front of me, "Let her go, already, before you cause an enquiry! Come on. I'm hungry!"

The other woman did not turn, her grey eyes trained on my face, disbelieving. Her arm was still hooked through mine.

"H-Helga," she stammered. I let out a small squeak.

"Now you've gone and scared the poor lass! You know they can't see us," the blonde continued in a serious voice, "Come on, you'll just upset yourself."

"Helga!" the redhead called.

"You're going to make Godri-"

"Helga!" she shouted out the blonde's name at the same time as I murmured it.

"What?" the little blonde piped.

"It's Salazar."

"What?" the girl asked, moving closer to us, "Ro, are you feeling ill aga-"

Her voice cut off when she spied me, and we spent a good few moments blinking at each other.

Slowly, the life sparked back in her eyes, and I found myself on the receiving end of a tackle.

Helga's voice comes out muffled with her face pressed into my neck, "Salazar! Where the _Hel_ have you been, missy? We looked for you everywhere! Don't you _ever_ leave again, or I'll- I'll..." she looks up at this, confused, "I'll figure out something to do. Something nasty."

Rowena is still staring, still blinking, still clutching my arm like an anchor.

"What happened to you?" she almost-whispers, and I notice for the first time that her voice has taken on a ghost-like lilt.

"I don't..." I trailed off, taking in her appearance at last. I almost gasped in shock, "What are you wearing?!"

The woman frowned, somehow managing to still look sheepish.

"Clothes," she replied.

* * *

The group watched as the retreating form of their companion faded hastily into the distance.

"What's gotten into her?" Ron queried, sounding slightly offended by the girl's abrupt departure.

Hermione frowned.

"Sally didn't check out her books," she said.

"Honestly, Hermione. Someone rushes out of the library like a lunatic, and what do you notice? That they forgot to check out some books," Ron mocked.

Hermione glared in his direction, "That isn't my point, _Ron_. Every book here has a charm on it to keep it from being stolen. You can't just _run_ out of the library with a bag full of them. They have to be signed out, or you'll end up on your...bottom," she finished lamely. Ron sighed and rolled his eyes.

"She probably checked them out earlier," he offered, "And how'd you find that out anyway? About the charms, I mean?"

The girl blushed.

"I was in a hurry one day," was all she supplied.

Ron guffawed into his fist, but Ginny looked thoughtful.

"You're wrong," she stated, "Sally just picked up those books. I saw her accio them."

Harry glanced at the girl beside him in interest, "Then how did she manage to sneak them out the door?"

"No offence, Harry" Luna piped from behind her magazine, "but I don't think she was trying to sneak anything out of anywhere."

Seamus agreed, "Yeah, mate. I'm pretty sure everyone noticed her running out of here."

"That still doesn't explain how she was able to just run out the doors with a stack of library books," Hermione reminded them. The girl found herself utterly baffled. Since her new classmate's arrival, she had done nothing but act strangely, and now things were acting strangely around her. Hermione bit her lip in thought. This was a mystery she was determined to solve.

* * *

**A/N: I'm gonna be honest people; I almost went full pornstar mode on you there (ok, so I wouldn't have posted it, and I'm never going to write it into this fic, anyway). I knew what I was meant to be writing, just...WOW! I am so tired after this! I didn't really even have the patience to triple check for spelling mistakes. T.T**

**Anyway, Moi! YOUR COMMENT ABOUT SAL BEING A SHREW! Oh, geez, that cracked me up so much! I imagine that if anyone mentioned that to her, she would be very...unimpressed.**

**And thanks for the get well. I am feeling better (although I've actually probably literally busted a hump somewhere getting this mammoth chapter done). And hey! Gaming is all about working to get through a story – the games I play, anyway. I can't say the same for some of my friends... Did I mention I'm very afraid of my dog, thanks to your comment? Nah, he's a sweetheart; just too big and vicious-looking to go out in public. :D**

**P.S. Snape is, indeed, human...most of the time. :P**

**To everyone else, I will promptly reply to your comments via PM when I get some rest (my poor hiney is so sore).**

**Love,  
**

**Lucy~!  
**


	10. In Which Memories Are Tested

**A/N: Finally! All done! This chapter took a long time to write, mainly due to a one shot I'm working on (which is _*surprise*_ about Sal's mumma and pappa). That should be posted before the next chapter. A link to my deviantART should also be up on my profile (even if there are only 2 pics relating to this story at the moment). As for now, here's chapter 10!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Previously:_

_Rowena is still staring, still blinking, still clutching my arm like an anchor. _

"_What happened to you?" she almost-whispers, and I notice for the first time that her voice has taken on a ghost-like lilt._

"_I don't..." I trailed off, taking in her appearance at last. I almost gasped in shock, "What are you wearing?!"_

_The woman frowned, somehow managing to still look sheepish._

"_Clothes," she replied._

* * *

Rowena and Helga were quick to lead me to the underground kitchen, Helga complaining that she was starving, and Rowena blushing fiercely as I continued to giggle at her choice of clothing.

"It's very fashionable!" she hissed, which only sent me into another bout of laughter. The irony of Rowena Ravenclaw strutting around half-naked, in a tiny pair of shorts, and something called a 'tank', simply because it was fashionable would undoubtedly have me crippled for weeks. It looked like she was in her underwear! I was already bent double with laughter, and finding it very hard to move without support.

"Stop laughing!" Ro chastised from within her near non-existent attire. I almost didn't listen to her, but what she said next caught my attention, "It looks like you're laughing at yourself."

"What?" I asked through my laughter.

"Have you gone daft? The students can't see us! It's only you," she replied testily, "I've already told you that! Three times!"

"Hush up, Ro. You're upsetting my stomach!" Helga interrupted, playing peace keeper, as always. I scoffed.

"Everything upsets your stomach, Hel. I'm surprised you're not fat from eating!" I snarked, and the three of us somehow ended up giggling all over one another, before Ro remembered to straighten up and shush us again.

"If anyone sees you, they'll swear you've gone insane!" she insisted. I sighed.

"Alright, alright," I said, "I'll just ignore you, then."

"Don't do that!" Helga pouted morosely, and Rowena slapped her.

"Don't encourage the beast, Hellie. We'll have a real situation on our hands, if you do," she joked.

"You already do, judging from what I've seen," I mentioned, tickling the pear on the portrait that led to the kitchens, "Nothing's working anymore; even the Heart appears to be dying."

Helga huffed out, "I wish," before plopping herself up onto one of the few uncluttered benches in the room. I glared at her for making such a rude comment towards our greatest work, but she didn't seem to catch it as she continued on.

"It's actually sucking the school into a void," she groaned, running a tiny hand through her hair, "Regardless of what we try, it just keeps destroying."

This information made me stand to attention.

"Don't be so dramatic, Helga," Rowena frowned, searching through an overhead cupboard for some unknown ingredient, "We haven't been able to prove that's what is happening so far."

"That's because we can't access the Heart!" she cried, "And wasn't it you who mentioned that as the most logical cause, anyway?"

Rowena turned to the young woman, still frowning, but she did not answer. It was a thoughtful frown, I decided – the one that hooded over the tall witch's face whenever she was contemplating a particularly intriguing conundrum. I looked from one witch to the other, frowning myself.

"Why can't you access the Heart?" I asked, "I managed to."

Rowena laughed abruptly.

"Evidently," she said, but it was Helga who answered my query, her head rising up to explain the problem to me.

"We've tried to before, but..." she trailed off.

"We can't," Ro supplied, now fiddling with a seemingly complex set of knobs attached to the stove she intended to use. They appeared to indicate which individual disc burst into flame. My gaze was sucked in to the fire for a moment, but I quickly regained my train of thought. That was a question for another time.

"Why not?" I questioned, "And where are the house elves?"

I glanced around, suddenly realising that the kitchen was both too quiet and too dark.

"Who knows?" Helga replied, "They're probably out cleaning the castle, about now."

I grimaced.

"What, all of them?" I asked in disbelief.

"I know," Ro agreed, turning to face me from where she stood, "The castle keeps resetting their schedules, and nothing ever gets done. I'm surprised they even manage to feed the kids, much less clean anything. It's bloody annoying."

My eyes widened in surprise.

"I didn't know you swore, Rowena," I teased, and she stuck her tongue out at me.

"I'm a thousand and twenty-three year old woman; I'm allowed to do what I want. And you're in Gryffindor," she reminded me, "Anything can happen."

I raised my brows, taking in her purple nails**, **and modern turn of speech, "I noticed."

She raised her brows right back at me, "No, really?" she mocked, "I hadn't. I've just been sitting in a dark closet for the past nine hundred and ninety-four years."

"And how was that for you?" Helga joined in. Rowena looked over to the sprightly witch, who was still sitting on the same bench, swinging her legs back and forth.

"Dark," she replied.

"I'll bet," I agreed.

"Yup," she nodded, now focused on pouring peas into a boiling pot, "Speaking of which; what happened to you? I remember you went out to get...something or other, but you never came back."

I balked.

"Do you really not know?" I asked in wonderment, "I tripped on God's stupid transportation rune, and woke up in the Entrance Hall."

"But the rune was _in_ the Entrance Hall," Helga mentioned, her eyes slightly unfocused in remembrance.

"Last week, Helga," I sighed, "I woke up in the Hall last week."

"Oh."

Rowena's eyes narrowed significantly, the ladle in her hand stilling.

"_Are you serious_?" she asked.

I raised a brow at her unusually crude manner, though she appeared to be prone to such outbursts now.

"No, I've actually been taking a long nap in my quarters. Thought you could survive without me for a few hundred years. I am also currently considering courting one of the house elves. Of course I'm bloody serious," I snapped, rolling my eyes.

Rowena slammed her ladle down on the kitchen counter.

"That bloody git!" she growled, "He _told_ me he cleared that rune up an hour before the kids arrived! How could he lie like that?! He probably knew what happened to you this whole time and -"

"Calm down, Ro," I frowned, "If Godric told you he did something, he wouldn't have been lying. Not on purpose."

Helga nodded in agreement.

"That doesn't sound like a very Godric thing to do," she reasoned, and that seemed to calm the redhead down somewhat.

"I suppose so," she muttered, stirring the ladle absentmindedly through the bubbling contents of her cooking pot, "I'll make sure to ask him later. But back to your question before; we can't access the Heart because whenever we've tried, we get stuck for an indefinite amount of time."

"Usually until the wards reset," Helga piped.

"Which there are significantly fewer of than I would be pleased with," Ro added.

I nodded in assent.

"That's almost exactly what happened to me," I supplied, "I was unconscious, but it felt as if I was drifting further and further away from my body, not just unable to move it because of my physical condition."

"At least you _have_ a physical body," Ro supplied. I started.

"What and you don't?" I scoffed. Helga shook her head, no, and Ro just continued stirring. I blinked several times in disbelief.

"You are jesting, surely?"

"Nope," Helga replied, intently inspecting her swinging shoes.

"Then how are you able to touch things?" I inquired, "A-and eat!"

At this, I looked at Helga in interest. She merely shrugged.

"Don't know," she said, "We think it's because we're bonded with the castle, but that's how we lost our bodies in the first place."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

The witch shrugged again, "When you disappeared, strange things started happening with Hogwarts. She stopped talking-"

"-She started acting melancholy-" Ro supplied.

"-and wouldn't follow some orders-"

"-It was almost as if she couldn't hear us, anymore."

"Then she stopped doing some of the things she should be doing, like keeping up maintenance; that sort of thing," Helga added, "We didn't realise it at the time,but..."

"It was because the School's energy was running out," Ro offered, still stirring through her bubbling concoction, "And when its resources got too low, it began to feed on us."

I gasped.

"You cannot be serious!" I cried.

Ro nodded.

"Unfortunately, we are," she continued, "Our physical bodies deteriorated quickly, and then it began to suck on our magical abilities."

She grinned devilishly.

"I suppose it's a good thing that we're all so strong, or I very much doubt we would have had the chance to meet again, sister," she smirked. I smiled at the affectionate term, but my mind was racing through all the new information I had received, searching for something; anything that could possibly assist us in solving this mystery.

_This is terrible... _I thought, _What kind of idiot mess have __I entangled myself in__?_

Rowena seemed to sense what I was thinking, and sent an intense stare my way.

"Don't even think about doing anything stupid, Sal, or I'll eat you," she warned.

"What kind of threat is that?" I mocked, "And since when have I ever been prone to doing anything illogical?"

Ro sighed with an air of long-suffering.

"Salazar, every time you take a breath, you manage to get yourself entangled in some misguided plot, or other," she stated, as if it were common fact.

I glared at her.

"It is not as if I look for trouble," I sniffed, "It just has a tendency for seeking me out."

"It has the very good sense to seek you out," she corrected, "because you are always willing to react to it."

The woman's gaze suddenly softened considerably.

"Listen, Sal," she said wearily, "I don't want you to interact with the castle any more than is necessary from now on, will you promise me that?"

Sensing the defiance in my heart, she continued, "For us?"

_Oh, that was _low_, sister-witch..._

I glared at her; she smiling smugly as one could manage. She knew she had won.

"If you are so intent on it, then I shall have to comply" I sighed, "Now, speak to me. What other oddities have occurred in the castle?"

For the next hour, I found myself being filled in on the most bizarre happenings around the school, from staircases disappearing, to classrooms shrinking in size, but only so slowly as not to be noticeable to the local population.

"And we don't even have any heating!" Helga moaned woefully.

"But this is impossible!" I said through a mouthful of soup, "The spells on this castle are impenetrable! Unbreakable! It just can't happen!"

"They said that about the Titanic, too," Rowena replied tiredly. I raised a brow, but she shook her head.

"Don't worry," she said, "My point is that we were all very young; it was the first time we had ever attempted such advanced casting. What may have seemed to work at the time, certainly isn't now, and that may just be our own faults."

Helga nodded from within her bowl.

"Yerp! Und lock ut isss! Wier stull...aluvvv!" she exclaimed. My other brow raised to meet with its companion.

"Um...can you say that in English, Hellie? I know you're Irish, but I can't speak any Gaelic," I said, as if it was a gentle reminder.

My teasing managed to get the girl's head out of her bowl, even if she was frowning at me.

"I _said_," she clarified, "We're still alive! Not in the _natural_ sense, of course, but we are still here, and able to move around. We can touch things; we have to use doors-"

"At least until midnight," Rowena added. I frowned at that.

"What do you mean, 'at least until midnight'?" I asked.

Rowena sighed, pouring Helga a third helping into her bowl.

"I have a theory about that," she said, "The wards reset at midnight, right?"

I nodded.

"Well, that's when the castle puts the most drain on our spirits," she continued.

"Yes, I know," I said, "That's why we agreed on such a late hour. If our abilities were ever needed during our sleep, we would regenerate quickly. Not to mention, midnight being the Witching Hour, our powers increase exponentially, and that burst would usually just go to waste."

"And thus, we'd escape having to deal with a foul headache for the rest of the day," Helga added.

"So, what about it?" I asked.

"The castle always needs extra energy at that time, irregardless of everything else, including whether or not there are any wards left. That's just what it has been told to do," Rowena reminded me, "Think about it."

My eyes widened in realisation.

"So, it just sucks the energy right out of you, until you can't even touch anything?" I asked.

Rowena grinned, in spite of the situation.

"And she's got it!" she laughed, tapping my head with her fist, "I'm actually surprised to know there's something up there."

"Ro, if you value your spiritual energy, Id' stop," I warned. Rowena chuckled, and Helga spat into her soup.

"And this is why we've missed you!" Rowena teased, pinching my cheeks. I knocked her away.

"But, in all seriousness," I began, "If it drains you that much, then how are you able to regain a semi-physical form every day? And what happened to me? I was sucked into the Heart, but it hasn't physically affected me. I mean, I don't _feel_ any less powerful."

"Oh, it only takes a little bit of energy at a time, and spits the rest of you back out, so you won't at first," Helga replied grimly, "But I'm supposing that since it pulled you directly into it, it knows who you are, and it's already begun feeding on you."

I shuddered involuntarily. Being eaten by a castle was not a particularly pleasant thought.

Sensing my discomfort, Rowena added, "I would not worry about it, Salazar. Your base element is water, correct? And it is strongest when the moon is high. And your chosen element is the earth, which is the most unwavering of all elements. You have quite some time to escape this fate."

I looked up at the kindly woman, whose hand was now resting on my shoulder, and asked, "Your chosen element was water, Ro. When did you go?"

The witch closed her eyes painfully, tears prickling along her lashes.

"I was the first," she whispered gravely. I swallowed.

"Then how can you tell me things are alright?" I asked, "Do not lie to keep me from fretting about the truth, Rowena. I can handle the possibility of pain, but I will not tolerate deceit. Not from you."

Rowena shook her head quickly.

"No, no!" she begged, "I was not lying! My magic was born from the spirit of air. Air latches on to nothing, and is the most easily destroyed by will. You will have so much longer than I did. You will be fine."

I could tell that she wanted to believe what she was saying, but I shook my head.

"Rowena, if there is anyone here that I want to be _fine_, it is you, and Helga, and even Godric, that bastard," I said, "If there is anything I can do for anyone, it will be for you all. If I must, and if I can, I shall return to the moment I left this school nine hundred and ninety-four years ago, and ensure that this does not even happen. And if that is impossible, then I shall spend the rest of my time here returning you to the forms you greeted this world in, so you can be allowed to live the lives you were meant to have."

Rowena looked as if she were about to protest, but then she simply smiled.

"I guess I know why you're in Gryffindor now," she said, "You are too loyal and brave for your own good."

I snorted.

"No, I'm too stupid, and pig-headed, and got into a fight with a hat," I disagreed.

"Yes, you are," Rowena tormented me, "But you are still a good friend."

* * *

After finishing tea with Helga and Rowena, I had agreed to meet with the two, along with Godric, in the Teachers' Garden on the first floor. Apparently, the area was now all but forgotten, having been stumbled upon a mere three times in the past seven hundred years. We had decided that this made it the ideal place to talk, especially well after-hours, as it was prone to become a very long discussion. Not only did we have to convince Godric that he wasn't hallucinating, mad, drunk, or dead, but I had insisted that we attempt to repair whatever had gone wrong with the castle, even against my companions' protests that every known route had been tried. To prepare for this brainstorming session, however, I had to return once more to my old chambers, and pick up some required reading.

Thankfully, the route to the Slytherin dungeons was blissfully free from students, save for one extremely pale boy who seemed more interested in avoiding others than even me. I remembered him from some of my classes as we passed one another, halting for a mere half second to silently ensure our secret wanderings were safe in each other's hands. I felt momentarily proud that he was in my house, if only because he was sane enough to keep to himself, although his tired appearance had me worried. Student or not, I was still a teacher at heart, and those attending Hogwarts fell under my responsibility.

_Perhaps I shall seek him out later?_ I thought, _He might appreciate my help, even if he does not know who is giving it__**. **_

Shortly after this, I rounded the corner to my chambers, and I found myself breathing a sigh of relief.

_Home, at last._

At the entrance to my chambers, I once again pressed my ear close to the door to assure myself of its vacancy. It was much later in the day than the last time I had entered – dinner was bound to be over very soon – and even then I had been caught out by Professor Snape. I could just imagine the reaction to me being found lurking in Professor Slughorn's bedroom. The uproar it could cause would almost certainly ensure that my continued position at the school would be one secured by force. Frankly, I was not quite feeling up to stealing back my teaching position today; not after the ridiculous lies about Gryffindor and Slytherin: Enemies Extraordinaire, and finding out that my three dearest friends were slowly being tortured out of existence, and had been since the very day I fell into this damned time. I felt I ought to be blamed for their sorry condition, and even though I preferred them 'alive' to rotting in a ditch, I could not bare to see the ones I loved so dearly suffering. I could also not stand and watch as our work fell apart; I refused to allow myself to become so bitter. Despite Rowena's protesting otherwise, I believed the responsibility to end this horror lay with me, and end it was exactly what I intended to do.

_That, and I don't want to have to mark any essays again, for a long time_, I admitted, rather childishly.

Upon opening the door, I found the room to be significantly cleaner than before, if not entirely spotless. The floor was still littered with parchment, and books, but they were at least now standing in neat little piles, and the dirty plates were gone. I found myself thinking that Professor Slughorn needed to perhaps invest in a bookshelf, or at the very least should eat in the Great Hall more often. I felt a bit sorry for the fellow, that he so obviously was more than often prone to return to his quarters to dine, rather than spend that time with his fellow colleagues.

_Perhaps his girth has him feeling self-conscious?_ I half thought as I made my way to the secret door. The man was quite on the large side, and seemed to be fond of wearing corsets, although they did almost nothing for him. I paused in my step, wondering what it would look like if one of the buttons on his garments were to burst...

_Salazar Slytherin, you will not hex your teacher's buttons off!_ I chastised, reminding myself that it would be somewhat less hilarious for the man in question to catch me in the act of upending what could technically be considered 'his' room.

_Entering my own bedroom has become a crime, _I snorted, not at all amused by this turn of events, _This is turning out to be almost as bad as the time when Godric convinced me to-_

"Ouch..." I muttered, having stubbed my toe on the edge of a book pile, causing the top two volumes to collide, first with each other, and then with the floor. I sighed mentally, reaching to place them back on the stack.

_Damn..._

"Oh! You're back!" an unnecessarily high-pitched voice squealed, causing me to jump, and topple over the stack.

"Oh, dear. Are you alright?" the voice continued in a concerned tone, and I found myself gritting my teeth.

"I was until you tripped me up!" I growled at the dresser, having discerned that was where the voice was coming from.

"Don't be silly, darling!" it chuckled, "I don't have any hands. How could I trip you? And why would I want to, with that pretty little face of yours?" it added gleefully.

_Are...are you bloody serious?! _

I glowered at the mirror from my spot on the floor, guessing the effect was somewhat less menacing from such a compromising position.

_And when used on such a daft object_, I added.

"Your screaming sent me to the ground!" I argued back, thoroughly annoyed, "Can't you bloody send out a warning beacon before you open your mouth?!"

To my surprise, the mirror started to fog up.

"I only wanted to wish you a good afternoon! You're so much nicer than Severus!" it sniffled.

_Oh Merlin, it's not..._

I cringed as the mirror began sobbing.

_How do I stop it?_ I panicked.

"Stop it! Desist at once!" I yelled. This only appeared to make the mirror shriek louder.

_At this rate, someone will come running down just to check on the bloody glass! _

I moaned.

"Come on," I coaxed in a gentler tone, recalling the soft manner with which Rowena usually reacted to a student's tears, "Please, be quiet?"

"B-but I made you angry!" it sobbed. I took a moment to roll my eyes as I attempted to stack the tomes back in the order they had been.

"No, you didn't," I assured it, "You just took me by surprise."

_I think_ this _one went_ here, I thought, cocking my head at my work. I nodded.

_It's good enough, anyway,_ I decided, _He'll never notice the difference, and if he does, who will he question? The looking-glass?_

I turned to look into the glass, having finished with the books.

"That's all," I assured it.

"B-but-!" it started, but I cut it off with a wave of my hand.

"I'm really not mad, so please do not feel bad about it. Just, next time, could you _warn_ me before you start shrieking?" I sighed, giving up altogether. Some battles were not meant to be won. I instead settled on stumbling to my feet and dusting off my new school skirt.

The mirror squealed with delight, and I cringed.

"Really? That's wonderful!" It piped merrily.

"I'm sure," I replied, inspecting my arse for dirt marks. There was a white streak down the right-hand side of the fabric, that looked suspiciously like chalk. I scowled.

_How long has that been there?_

"And you're truly not mad at me?" it questioned with overbearing hope.

"What? Yes, yes. Of course. We're fine," I replied halfheartedly, attempting to scrub the back of my skirt clean without resorting to spinning the cloth around.

"So we can be friends?" it asked.

_Maybe. Can you get this chalk off my arse? Seriously, is it jinxed onto my backside? _I glared at the offending marks warily, _Would anyone even bother to jinx my bum? ...I'm not even going to enter that realm of thought, right there. _

"Of course we can, deary," I said, using the mirror's own term of affection.

_Ah! Done it!_ I smiled with pride, finally ridding myself of the stain. The mirror, too, seemed to be particularly happy since we had 'made up'.

'I love you, Salazar!" It crooned. I froze, still looking at my bottom.

"What did you just say?" I asked icily.

_I never told it my name! _I panicked. On the surface, I remained calm.

"That's wonderful. I love you?" The mirror repeated, obviously confused. I squinted at it.

"Is that all you said?" I questioned, "Wasn't there more to it?"

"No..." the mirror informed me slowly, "Did you hit your head when you tripped, deary? You do look a little pale."

I nodded absentmindedly.

"Perhaps..." I replied distractedly.

_I am becoming rather too paranoid_, I chastised myself, _Why would this mirror know me by name_?

But inside I was not so sure. First, the damned thing had acted so out of character, and now it was presumably calling me by name. I frowned.

_How am I supposed to know the glass' 'character'?_ I assured myself, _And I have been very tired lately. I am simply hearing things. _

I nodded. That was right. Everything was fine, here, and I had a very clean skirt.

I looked up at the mirror, grinning widely.

"Well, it was nice to see you, but I really must be going now," I told it. It sighed in response.

"A pity," it said softly, "I hope to see you again soon."

I smiled, showing none of my inner turmoil.

"But of course," I agreed, slipping along the wall, and hopefully out of the mirror's sight. Rubbing a palm against the polished stone, I once again pressed my lips to the wall, and watched as the door to my resting chamber slowly materialised. It was an almost painful thing to see, with the seconds slipping away so rapidly. The Professor was bound to turn to his bed soon, even if I had noticed his proficiency in holding beyond lengthy conversation on nearly every subject. Even thinking this made me so very nervous, that I whipped open the door while it was still attempting to materialise. My punishment was a high-pitched squeak, and being tugged roughly into the gaping abyss before me, which soon became my room. I sighed with relief, even as my kneecaps bounced painfully against the carpeted floor. For a moment there, I had thought myself to be in dire trouble. Thankfully, this had been one of the few times my impatience had ever played out the way I wished.

Standing, I rushed over to the rickety old bookcase, my fingers running nimbly along spines, pulling out only the titles that I thought necessary. First, my copy of _The Irreversibles_ by the ever-knowledgeable Morgana le Fay; the book I had instantly thought of during my research in the Library, and the original reason I had been so eager to return to my sanctum. Her journals had oft proven helpful to me, and a particular passage from this volume continued to ring within my head. The second book, however, had been written by her brother, Mordred, who although had been slightly misguided in life, was also apparently quite a clumsy man, and had hence written a personal tome entitled _When Magic Goes Wrong_. This hilarious journal had practically fallen into my hands one night whilst at the le Fay estate, soon after the family's brat had decided to turn my 'silly' hair green. I smirked as I held the perfectly preserved 'gift' in my hands.

_I wonder if he ever was able to turn that ridiculously long nose of his back to normal, or if he was left looking like a wild hog forever?_ I shook my head at the memory, _I was silly back then, I must admit. And romantic. What kind of hex involves 'until someone will love you'? It should have been, 'ugly until proven otherwise', or 'feast until you are a beast'! _I thought, still scanning through the crowded shelves. I giggled, _Or 'You shall lust after everything you see, but whatever you truly love will see you as a pig'!_

"Ah, I really was just too hopelessly romantic," I hummed aloud, "But what is a lowly half-breed to do?"

It was then that I noticed yet another intriguing volume resting on my shelves. I picked the light volume up, frowning slightly. The cover read, as the spine had, _Only Time Will Tell_, but I was finding it hard to place where I had acquired it from. It looked _too_ new and shiny, even amongst other well-preserved volumes. I flipped open the cover, reading the description within:

**Only Time Will Tell**

**by Merlin**

**On aging backwards, forwards, and all things in-between!**

A hasty note was scribbled underneath the writing; that of a familiar hand:

_You are another year older! Congratulations on not contracting some Muggle disease and dying a horrible, painful death! _

_Much love,_

_HELGA!_

_(Post Script: You had better read this book; it is very informative, and cost me quite a lot of money, not to mention the time it took to track it down, and the effort expended on begging the previous owner to sell it to me, so not only will you read it, as I have advised, but you will cherish it, or else I shall think of something horrid to do to you. I'm not sure what that something will be yet, but it will be thoroughly atrocious!) _

I squinted as the writing became smaller and smudged, then shuddered at the end of the passage.

_So that's where I got it,_ I thought disdainfully.

I suddenly did not feel like taking the volume with me to see the others, where Helga would most certainly realise that I had not in an entire year since receiving _Only Time Will Tell_, even managed to properly glance at the first page.

Once the witch had mentioned it was written by Merlin, I had almost decided to burn the book to a crisp, but refrained from doing so to spare my friend's feelings. It was not that I disliked Merlin (although I certainly did not hold him in the same high regard that Helga did); it was that I disliked his books. Whilst incredibly informative, they had a penchant for clapping me across the head, or pinching my bottom – often times, both. And although I had reached the age of twenty-seven as a maid, I was not quite so desperate as to allow myself to be sexually harassed by lecherous literature. Even now, the pages were ruffling about, making puckering noises in my direction. I groaned.

"Shut up, you old pervert!" I snapped, shoving the book roughly into my school bag along with the others.

_Godric is going to have too much fun with this tonight_, I groaned, _And Helga has had a very long time to think of how to punish me for not reading this. I hope her memory is failing her..._

And I truly hoped that it was. Despite what others often seemed to think, Helga was a prankster of the most formidable kind. When she said she would be thinking of a way to make you regret slighting her, she most certainly meant it. And she truly was terrible! Kind as she was, she would never put anyone in immediate danger, but that did not mean she was above making one _think_ that they were.

_Or thoroughly humiliating them in front of the entire School's populace_, I shuddered.

I reached for another volume; the last on my list. It was a plain tome – one that we had used for lessons in Defence classes, although I could not seem to locate one within the entire school earlier in the week. Seeking answers as to Hogwarts' dilapidated condition, I had attempted to _accio_ a copy to me from my hospital bed, but had only managed to retrieve a lecture from Madam Pomfrey when I was caught with my wand in hand. I had glowered at that. If they did not want me to use the thing, then why was it left right beside me on the table?

So, I held the precious copy of _Unbreakable Spells and When to Cast Them_ by Anriel Bagshot incredibly close to my chest, as I glanced once more around the shelf. With a shrug of my shoulders, I snatched up my own personal journal, containing records of all the inner-workings of Hogwarts, and then pushed the two slender books into my carry-bag, along with the first three.

Satisfied, I nodded, and headed towards the exit of the room, pulling up short only to retrieve some undergarments from my own (thankfully silent) dresser, and two of my favourite dresses from the wall closet. Unfortunately, with my schoolbag already being bulky and of an unwieldy weight, I was forced to carry the two heavy gowns in my own hands, disguising my more personal attire amongst them.

I took me a good two minutes to turn the door handle in such a condition, and yet another half a minute to determine that I was not going to fall on my way outside, even if I did manage to bang my head against the door-frame thrice.

_Thank goodness I didn't-_

"Oof!"

_-trip on my way out the door and spill my personal belongings across someone else's bedroom._

"Oh dear!" the mirror cried immediately, "Not those silly books again! Severus, you should clean them up!"

"Yes, he should!" I agreed angrily, rubbing my pounding head. My vision was slightly off-kilter, and I was finding it hard to tell which books were mine, from the ones that had already been on the floor. Not to mention my underwear was now scattered in a large pile around me, completely unashamed to be out in plain sight. I blushed.

_At least it's only me and the dresser,_ I thought, _It would be terrible if someone else was he-_

"Severus! Snap out of it, and help her up, will you?" the mirror continued, sounding mildly irritated, "And then you clean this room up _properly_, young man!" it insisted.

_Mirror, no..._

Cringing, I turned my head towards the dresser, to find a tall, abnormally skinny person standing quite close behind me. At least, they were abnormally skinny for Professor Slughorn.

_A little bit thinner than average, I would say_, noting that the person's face was the most bizarre mixture of horror-struck and bewildered I had ever seen. I giggled.

"Your face is hilarious," I said aloud, and this seemed to snap the person out of their own state of shock. However, I soon realised that when_ this_ particular person wasn't gaping at me like a floundering eel, they were in a really foul mood. They were always in a really foul mood, I noted, because they were Professor Snape.

_Merlin help m- OUCH! Flipping pinching my arse! _

I grabbed the offending book, which was now back to cooing and puckering its pages at me.

"Evil, lecherous thing!"I exclaimed, before realising my Professor was still standing before me, now seeming to be rather enraged. I sheepishly held _Only Time Will Tell_ out to him.

"I don't suppose I could interest you in a book?" I giggled nervously.

His expression told me that he didn't think so, either.

* * *

**A/N: Well, wasn't that adventurous? I'm actually a little bit annoyed about the start of this chapter, but hey, I managed to keep it in one tense (I think). I'm having some trouble when uploading/saving changes, where the wordsallstringtogetherliketh is, which is ok for a parody fic, but - let's face it - _bloody annoying_ when I'm trying to be serious. *TRYING!* I think the main problem with it are the jokes I was making as I was writing it, not the actual wording, though. :/**

**Anyway; review replies! I can't actually remember if I've replied yet to the members who were signed in, but if not, thank you, and I'm glad you're having as much fun as I am! **

_Moi,_

_I'm glad you found the last chapter so entertaining. I personally couldn't wait to write it, because it brings so many things about the castle, and Sal's past to light (also, thanks for calling it elegant. I think I actually wet my pants in happiness at that point...that was an image you needed in your head, I'm sure). I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. :D_

_I really want to go into a discussion about how the Founders chose their students' qualities, but that would probably end up being a bit of a spoiler, so I'll keep it to myself for now. My fan art, however... I'd rather keep in the closet, but since it IS technically a part of the story, I have added (or will add in another few minutes, if my net doesn't conk out), a link to my 'arsty b#!5#17', as I like to call it. _

_P.S. Cute, cuddly, vicious dogs are the best. :D  
_

**As always,**

**Love,**

**Lucy~!**


	11. In Which Memories Are Erased

**A/N:**** *sidles in* Don't kill me! I has reasons! Reasons I have explained in my profile...sporadically, as I mooch off other people's internet!**

Anyway, I'm back! More chapters! Heyhey! ...I'll stop now. Just a quick note that more quick notes are at the bottom of the page, explaining some things (like Latin?), and other important stuffs.  


**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Previously:_****

_"Evil, lecherous thing!"I exclaimed, before realising my Professor was still standing before me, now seeming to be rather enraged. I sheepishly held Only Time Will Tell out to him._

_"I don't suppose I could interest you in a book?" I giggled nervously._

_His expression told me that he didn't think so, either._

* * *

"Professor, I didn't expect to see you here!" I stammered, poising myself to run as the foreboding man moved closer.

"I very well doubt you did," he replied, his voice dangerously low.

Silence reigned for a moment.

"What are you doing here?" he spat.

"Um...Cleaning?" I said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

"Do not play me for a fool, Miss Smith. What are you doing here? How did you get in?" The man was stalking closer with every syllable, and my heart hammered uncomfortably in its cage. I felt sure that the force of it would leave bruises.

_Just what I didn't need_, I thought, g_etting caught by Snape!_

Still, I answered his question.

"Through the door," I muttered.

My answer seemed to offend the Professor, his eyes gaining a fury as his hands clenched.

"Don't act so-"

"Stop yelling at her, Severus!" the mirror piped defensively, "She's a nice young lady."

The dark haired man flung himself around to face my defender.

"You stay out of this! Your idiocy..."

_Wait..._

My heart stopped.

"Severus! You mean to say that _he's_ Severus?" I spluttered, shocked beyond belief.

The Professor sneered at me, uncomprehending.

"What do you mean, '_he's Severus_'?" he snarled defensively, his body rigid and poised as though he might flee, despite his intimidating appearance.

"Well, the way the mirror went on, I thought you were Severus Slughorn," I supplied calmly, my eyes travelling unfocused 'cross the floor. Surely I was having some sort of out of body experience?

_This can't be real_, I decided, _I am far too tired for this to actually be happening. Severus Snape indeed! _

My heart was saddened.

_But this means that Helga and Rowena were a dream, too. Alas... _

Snape, meanwhile, had momentarily shifted his attention to the mirror, a fearsome scowl covering his face.

"You told her I was _Slughorn_?" the Defence tutor bit out in what I supposed would have been a screech, had the man's voice been any less deep and domineering.

The mirror, for its part, began to rattle in its bearings, and I felt compelled to assist it.

"It's not that she said you were anything like him!" I exclaimed hastily, "Just...she didn't know your surname."

"What?" he hissed at the mirror, appearing to be more incensed than ever.

_And, I helped this situation by nought._

"I couldn't remember your last name!" It squeaked defensively, now rattling so badly in its frame that I feared it would fall and shatter.

"You – bloody – It's Snape, you imbecile!" cried the red-faced Professor.

At this, the mirror stilled in its movements, apparently contemplating the situation.

"Ah! So it is" it giggled in its shattering voice, "Must have slipped my mind. Perhaps I should rest..."

And with that, I felt its presence fading away to wherever mirror souls go to sleep.

_Well, that was an awfully quick recovery,_ I thought, mind still shrouded in a dreamlike haze, _Good for it._

However, even in spite of my current decision that none of this could possibly be real, I realised that this would be the part of my dream where I executed my escape plan. Sneakily as I could, I took the time my Professor was distracted to slip my wand into my hand, muttering a soft, "_Obliviate_," as I held it before me. To my surprise, the spell misfired, and barreled back towards myself.

"Crap!" I exclaimed, the unreality knocked out of me as I lunged from the spell's range, before it was I who ended up forgetting this little debacle.

_Pants!_

And I had just started believing that I could actually escape!

When I looked up at the Professor, he was glaring at me.

"And what, Miss Smith," he drawled, "was that?"

"I think you know what that was," I replied too hastily, still somewhat stunned that this horrible thing was happening.

_It would have to be Slytherin, wouldn't it? It's never Ravenclaw stepping in the dragon droppings, or Hufflepuff knocking out the Gamekeeper with her basilisk._

"Indeed I do, Miss Smith, and I would like you to explain yourself," the Professor drawled dangerously throughout my piteous thoughts.

_It's never Gryffindor flooding the girl's bathroom for the third time in one month... Stupid plumbing. Why couldn't the Romans just keep it?_

"Miss Smith, you are treading a very dangerous path," Snape whispered as he resumed stalking towards me, his voice bringing me back dangerously close to reality. I found myself backing away; sidling across the floor to a place his dark essence couldn't reach me. I was practically frantic. What was I meant to say? I had never been one for improvised situations, and these past few weeks had only driven that point further home.

_Merlin! Can't he go without a few memories? It's not as if I was trying to kill him._

I went to slink further into the depths of the room, but all my hands grasped at was the unyielding wall.

_Drat it! _

The dark Professor loomed before me, his lanky form blocking out whatever small light there was to the room. I went to lunge past him, but my move was anticipated. Snape had grabbed me by the wrist and showed no signs of letting go.

"What are you doing, Smith?" he rumbled. I felt frozen, my eyes wide and blood pumping equal measures of adrenaline and awe.

_How did he manage that?_ I thought, barely coherent, staring at my ensnared limb. The grip on which was suddenly and painfully constricted.

"_Answer me!_" he shouted, shaking me out of my stupor, "What are you doing here?"

I had half a thought to actually answer him when his breathing abruptly stopped.

"_Who_ are you?" he whispered menacingly. I was quick to reply.

"Not your enemy, if that's what you're thinking."

It seemed to be that it was.

"You didn't answer my question, Smith," he hissed again. I didn't like his voice. It was really starting to intimidate me.

_Perhaps I misjudged those Slytherin girls earlier? _I thought to myself. I really needed to get out of this mess, and now! My wrist was killing me.

"F-fine," I stammered, "I'm...I am _Finite Memoria_!"

Again, my spell misfired, but moreso due to the pain I was experiencing than anything else. Snape pulled me closer.

"You are drowning yourself, Miss Smith," he ground out, digging his nails into my flesh, "I would sincerely recommend you stop attempting to curse me, and instead answer what you have been asked."

I whimpered. There was too much pain, and the Professor seemed to be enjoying it far too much.

"It would be in your best interests to respond," my aggressor growled, half dragging me to my feet, and giving me an unpleasant view of the pits he called eyes. All I could sense was darkness and rage, and something within me snapped. I would not be treated this way! After all, I had things to do. And I _would _be doing them, Severus Snape be damned!

My heart hammered in my chest, begging for me to just go along with the man, so we could both go on living, but my mouth was too busy expressing my indignation at being handled so roughly to really listen, or take heed.

"Unhand me, Professor," I whispered angrily, my green eyes narrowing to slits. The man in question merely growled at me again, his face unwelcomely close to my own.

"You should know, Miss Smith, that I do not tolerate insubordination, nor do I tolerate liars. You will answer my questions – each and every one of them – and promptly. You will not disobey me. You will not stall for time, and I will not 'unhand' you, as you so put it, until I have both ensured, _myself_, that you are not dangerous, and notified Headmaster Dumbledore of your unseemly antics. Now, answer me; how did you get in here?"

The grip on my arm tightened, and I squirmed uncomfortably under the man's iron clasp.

_Why do they always need to turn things into a show of brute strength? If I was that height, I could surely abuse people as I wished, too!_ I exclaimed inwardly, refusing to talk. This did not impress the Professor.

"I assure you, Miss Smith, that your silence will only prolong this unsavoury experience for both of us," Snape continued in his deathly whisper, "There are many ways to extract information from others, and I am not above using certain_ methods_ on a potential threat to my person."

My eyes narrowed further at this.

Could he mean...?

_Leglimency? _

I snarled loudly, baring my teeth, but the Professor didn't even have the courtesy to blink at my dominant display.

_I will show him who is in control here_, I thought.

"I have said it once already, Professor, and I will not repeat myself a third time for such a low man as you; unhand me," I spat, angrily.

The Professor's gaze turned particularly malevolent at my words, and as expected, his grip on my wrist merely tightened. It was enough for me to feel my bones creaking. _It was enough..._

"I will not be threatened by a little girl," he spat sadistically. I smiled.

"And I will not be held against my will by an unskilled novice of a wizard," I replied, summoning the power that had been growing steadily ever since he had grabbed me into my hands, and seeping it onto his skin. Professor Snape shuddered involuntarily, no doubt noticing the icy sensation crawling up his arm, but far too distracted by my impertinence to investigate it.

_Foolish men,_ I sighed internally,_ Ever the source of idiocy_.

Had the Professor heeded my words, he would perhaps have noticed what was slithering its way up his left arm. Then again, had he been even that compliant, I would not have had to subject the dunce to this treatment.

"Excuse me, Smith?" he ground out angrily, gripping my arm even more painfully. I wanted to laugh.

_Go ahead, Severus,_ I mocked, _The firmer your touch, the easier it will be for me to subdue you._

"I _said_," I hissed, firmly keeping my gaze on his own, "that you are both a novice and a dunce, and as such should not hold yourself so highly above others, _M'Lord_."

Inside my head, the thoughts kept repeating, '_Keep him distracted_!' like some kind of mangled mantra. Severus was incensed.

"You-" he started, purple-faced, struggling to continue. I was beginning to feel that my arm would snap clean in two, but I needn't have worried for much longer. One of my rune-snakes was already halfway up the Professor's arm, and halfway down mine. It shuddered to a stop, uneasy to move any further off my arm lest it become stuck to the foreign surface. I smirked.

_Might as well have some fun while I can..._

"And by the way, Professor," I whispered conspiratorily, "My name is Salazar, not '_Smith_'."

I mimicked in his voice, feeling daring. It's not like he would ever remember this had happened, anyway. Before he had even had a chance to react, Snape froze in pain.

For an instant, I felt the heartbeat of the man before me overlap with my own; warm, dark, and not dissimilar to mine, surprisingly, then I spoke the words -

"_Obliviscaris in somnis_"

- and the connection was broken. My rune snapped back on to my own arm, and the Professor, whose grip had prior to been so unbearably searing, now slackened as the man fell to the floor with a thud, his head landing sideways on my shoe. I grimaced.

_Idiotic fool..._

I gently kicked the man's forehead with my other foot to detach it from my body, badly wishing I could get away with leaving a nice, dark bruise on his brow. However, keeping with the image of restraint I was known for as a teacher (although, perhaps not so much as a student), I straightened my robes, and busied myself with collecting my belongings. Once everything within sight was collected, I hobbled over to the mirror, tapping the glass lightly. I received no response.

"Must have really scared her off," I mumbled, more for myself than anything else. I had no fear for the man behind me waking. He would be out for at least another few hours, and at most, an entire day – not long enough to be missed on a weekend, especially for an antisocial _idiot_ like Severus Snape. I hesitated for a moment, glancing between the reflective glass, and the snoozing man on the floor. The mirror had not seen the majority of our interaction, but on the other hand, it had not even kept our last encounter to itself. I tapped the glass again.

"Hey! Wake up, sleepy!" I called, frowning when my ministrations did nothing to extract a reaction from the object.

I sighed.

_Nothing I can do about it, then_, I thought to myself, deciding that it wasn't really worth my time to even try. There had been nothing compromising to myself that the mirror had seen or heard – not even my name. I was sure that later, both it and Severus would be having a nice little chat about his abrupt handling of the 'nice girl', but neither he, nor it would be able to explain anything that occurred later. He had just had his memory wiped, courtesy of the 'Fearsome Salazar Slytherin', and it had not been present to record the debacle. I felt safe enough in that knowledge. Peeking over my shoulder at the man once more, I saw him attempt to snuggle into something in his sleep. My eyes narrowed in annoyance at the malicious thoughts running through my head, all of which were sprouting from my resurfacing conscience. I supposed that it was trying to make up for all the times I ignored it in everyday life. I sighed again, massaging the stress out of my temples.

_I'm not getting out of here without getting him in a proper bed, am I? _I questioned no one in particular. It didn't seem fair that I should have to be the one to do it, considering that _he_ was the one who had started on _me_, but as I was the only 'professor' available, it had become my unofficial duty.

Grimacing, I made my way over to the world-dead professor, flicking my wand out at him as I did so.

"Mobilicorpus," I muttered, watching with slightly disinterested eyes as the man's body rose into the air, head lolling to the side. With another flick of my wand, I sent his form to the bed in the corner, letting him crash onto its surface. Certainly, I had rescued him from the pain of awakening to a stiff back, but that did not mean I had forgiven him for molesting my wrist. Even now, it was throbbing from the few simple movements I had made with my wand.

"I suppose I'll have to get that checked out now, too," I muttered. I could heal it myself, but my medical abilities were shaky at best when I wasn't feeling especially benignant. I had even once made a small fracture into a full break when I was in a particularly foul mood – never mind that Thomas Dell wasn't the one I was angry at for turning my hair green during the last Teachers' Quidditch match. Godric certainly had a lot to learn about the appropriate way to 'sport team colours', as he had called the vicious attack on my head.

_Idiots! _I growled, _The lot of them! They're all idiots! _

I glanced once more back at the man on the bed. His face had planted itself straight into the pillow, and I was sure he must be having trouble breathing.

"Good enough," I muttered, turning the handle to the heavy door before me. It wasn't my problem that Professor Snape had bad sleeping habits, and I had places to be. I smirked.

With any luck, he'd suffocate in his sleep.

* * *

**A/N:**** Well, that's the end of another chapter (I lie. I'm so out of practice that I actually cut this chapter off halfway. It's six in the morning! Don't judge!). As always, I hope you enjoyed, and I will now note some minor problems I am experiencing:**

*ADSL2+ is somehow **SLOWER** than my dial-up was - and I know my dial-up well, because I was stuck with it all through HS. I will be complaining.

*The bottom row of my lappy's keyboard is going spastic, so I have to bang the damn thing to work; particularly the letter 'N'. Don't get me wrong, **'_kocked_' is a funny word**, but not the right one.

*My laptop will be going in for a service within the next 2-4 weeks for a busted fan, and broken charger. This may hinder any progress that I am_ FINALLY_ making with the whole editing process. I am currently using an attachable fan to prevent it from sparking up like it did two days ago...

*Is anyone else having trouble with the Doc Manager? It seems to still be molding words together into** one long, convoluted mess.  
**

**And a note:**

*That one spell (_**according to Google Translate, the most accurate thing on the planet...**_) means 'forget in sleep' in Latin.  
*Finite Memoria is, well, 'end memory' more or less.

**That's about it. Have a great, great, GREAT day!  
**

**Love, **

**Lucy~!**


	12. The Holiday Express

**A/N:**

**I like this chapter a lot. That's about it.**

**Oh, and if I haven't replied to your reviews for Chapter 10...it's because I'm lazy. :P  
No, it's because I can't remember if I already have or not, but either way, I'm giving you all a big thank you shout out. THANK YOU!**

**Enjoy~!**

* * *

_**Previously:**_

**Idiots!**_** I growled, **_**The lot of them! They're all idiots!**

I glanced once more back at the man on the bed. His face had planted itself straight into the pillow, and I was sure he must be having trouble breathing.

"Good enough," I muttered, turning the handle to the heavy door before me. It wasn't my problem that Professor Snape had bad sleeping habits, and I had places to be. I smirked.

With any luck, he'd suffocate in his sleep.

* * *

_After almost three months trapped in a new era, I had grown accustomed to many things. I was by now used to fighting for the roast pork every Thursday evening; I paid attention in class – even the ones I didn't really want to – and often even found myself completing mountains of class assignments at the last minute, with a mouthful of bangers and mash, after a hard day of scouring the library for any possible leads on our 'castle situation', as Helga had so aptly put it. There were some things, however, that one could not simply adjust themselves to..._

* * *

"_Damn it..._"

I growled as I rubbed my tender shoulder. Ever since I had come to the attention of my old tutor and friend, Godric had taken to squeezing the life out of me whenever our paths crossed, which was frequently, as he had taken to following me around to all of my classes, leaving chaos and detentions in his wake wherever he went.

_Bloody arsehole. I'm just _so_ glad the holidays are coming up soon. There's nothing like spending Christmas Break locked in a human straight jacket,_ I thought sarcastically.

I sighed.

_At least I'll be able to get some research done..._

I snorted.

_Yeah, right. I'll be lucky to pry God's fingers off of me until one of us dies, or starts to stink too badly. Speaking of which..._

"Godric," I hissed quietly, "You do realise that you can let go of me any time you please. I'm not going to drop dead the second you dare to take your fingers off me."

The response was a hearty laugh, and another tight squeeze around the shoulders.

"Don't be silly, Sal," the redhead grinned down at me happily, "I'm just trying to make up for lost time!"

"Well it feels like you're trying to break my bones!" I retorted, louder than I should have, "Do you have any idea how many bruises I'm trying to hide under this shirt?"

Godric erupted into laughter again, his grip tightening in his glee.

"Same old Sal!" he huffed.

_Why that...!_

"Let go of me you righteous idiot! My skin is going to start growing in black and blue if you don't!" I cried indignantly, definitely too loud this time. A few heads raised to turn my way, and Ginevra blinked in my direction a few times.

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking a bit annoyed and far too tired to want to be confused.

I giggled back at her sheepishly.

"Of course! Why, did something happen?" I deflected, sending a scowl Godric's way as I turned back to my empty plate. Pretending to reach for some potatoes, I whispered in his ear, "Let go of me, or I swear to any and all gods that there are, I will boil your balls, and feed them to the merfolk."

When the threat didn't appear to be working, I added, "While they're still attached."

The man's hands fell immediately.

"Whatever you want, Sally, dearest," he chuckled nervously.

I scowled.

"And stop calling me Sally. My name is Salazar. Sal. Az. Ar," I demanded. This signalled Godric's turn to furrow his brow.

"So, you let these kids call you Sally, but your_ best friend _is restricted to the specific use of _Salazar?_" he emphasised. I wanted to smack him.

"It was a slip of the tongue, God!" I jabbed his ribs discretely as I could with my index finger, "At least they don't know any better. I've been telling _you_ not to call me that since I was five. It's had over a thousand years to sink in. Was that not enough time, or should I give you another few millennia?"

God smirked.

"You must remember that no one has tried to stop me from calling you Sally for a very long time," he reminded me. I shuddered at the mere thought of how many times he'd had the opportunity to use that _butchered_ version of my poor, innocent name while I wasn't around. Godric, however, seemed immune to the disgusting thought. He leaned in conspiratorially, eyes glinting with mischief.

"And," he continued, "It's a cute name for you."

My eye twitched.

_Trying to get a rise out of me, eh, Gryffindor?_

It wasn't going to work. Leaning over to grab some peas, I grinned.

"That may be true, but a cultured and delicate flower like myself deserves a more romantic name; something elegant, and dainty, and... feminine. Something womanly..." I trailed off, spooning the peas onto my plate, "Something like _Godric_."

At this, God spat out a few chunks of potato he had silently been stealing off my plate. I snickered as he turned his head towards me, glaring disappointedly.

"I am not a woman," he mumbled.

"I am not Sally," I replied simply, before commencing my own long overdue breakfast, a small smirk lingering on my lips. He may not always be the best of company, but Godric was still my favourite person, despite his idiocy, and it was good to be back together.

* * *

Unfortunately, my amicable disposition concerning Godric did not last long that day.

"Who hired this arsehole?"

"_Godric_!" I hissed in shock. The man in question merely tilted his head in my direction.

"What?" he said, "I know you were thinking it."

"I may have been, but that doesn't mean you have to shout it out!"

"You do know he can't hear me, right?" he queried, looking for all the world worried for my health.

"Do I look stupid? Of course I know-"

"Then you may have also realised that he _can_ hear you," Godric supplied, grinning. I cringed at the sight of his teeth. Turning around, I noticed the entire class' focus had turned to me. I chuckled nervously.

"Miss Smith, I don't believe that _drama_ is listed as part of the curriculum," came the quiet voice of Professor Snape.

I nodded my head obediently.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," I replied.

The Professor nodded.

"Very well. Ten points from Gryffindor. Make sure it does not happen again," he ended, turning back to the blackboard.

Godric made a fine point of whispering in my ear, "Ten points from Slytherin for being naughty whilst in my House."

I glared at him.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence, "Where's my 'Yessir!'"

"Up your-"

"Smith!" the Professor called, "I thought I told you to stop chattering."

"Yessir!" I yelped, causing Godric to fall off the seat he was occupying, and onto the floor, in fits of obnoxiously loud laughter.

"Shut up!" I hissed.

"W-why should I?" Godric bellowed, wiping his eyes of mirth, and spreading his arms, "No one can hear me!"

I grimaced. Godric was obviously feeling bitter today, and as usual, he was taking it out on my Defence class. It was apparently a hobby of his to insult every known Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in history – many of which, I had heard, were truly, appallingly bad – whenever he was in a foul mood. Probably because it was his favourite class to teach when he was visible – something I would usually find endearingly sympathetic, but currently wished to throttle him for.

"Because, _Godric_," I whispered angrily, "_I _can hear you, and I am _trying_ to _work_!"

Godric looked rather put out by this statement. Actually, he looked at me like I was the most absurd creature on the planet, and then proceeded to shake his head.

"Man, you're loyal to this idiot to a fault, aren't you?" he huffed, "Just because he's the Head of Slytherin doesn't mean you have to take that crap from him. I mean, you _are_ Slytherin!"

"Yes, thank you, Godric, for pinpointing all of my problems. _House loyalty_. Yes. Because I am so loyal to people I don't like!" I hissed back hurriedly.

"Then why else would you defend Snape left, right, and centre?" he queried, equally as annoyed, and equally as ready to express it, "He's a prat."

"Oh, I dunno," I retorted, "Maybe because you don't cross people who _break your hand_?!"

I started to turn back to my work, before remembering to add, "And I _do not _defend him! I just don't _antagonise_ him!"

My only reply was a grumpy 'harrumph' as Godric slipped back into his seat, slouching childishly. He looked terribly worn. Five minutes later, he had already started snoring.

_Poor Godric... _

I peered at him from the corner of my eye, making sure he looked comfortable, before sighing, and getting back to my set task.

In actuality, the past two and a half months had been Hel. Ever since reuniting with my friends, we had non-stop been searching for a way to circumvent the castle's magical hunger, and so far had turned up empty handed. Not to mention that recently, Rowena and Helga had taken ill again, and Godric looked to not be trailing too far behind. I hated seeing my friends waste away, and although they assured me that as the moon grew rounder, so would their health peak, it seemed to do less good with each cycle.

Add Severus Snape's increasingly frequent memory lapses concerning myself, and my conscience was downright under the weather. It was not that I particularly_ minded _being ignored during classes, or that my detentions were overlooked before they became official as far as the Defence teacher was concerned – it was that I had the distinct feeling Severus hadn't suddenly contracted Alzheimer's (and believe me, I had researched a whole lot into the matter of memory loss in the past two months). In fact, I felt almost certain that Severus, as he was now referred to in my sympathy-ridden mind, was suffering from the effects of a botched memory-realignment charm, most likely caused by the blind panic I had felt when I had attempted it on him.

"It's not like there was another option..." I whispered, eyes tumbling over the damaged volume of the Prophet in front of me. We were supposed to be writing essays on dark curses throughout the ages, but I was finding it hard to concentrate. In fact, despite my protestations otherwise, I had only managed to write one sentence, and it was in dot-point form:

_**994 A.D. - Slytherin curses Le Fay; boy becomes hideous monster **_

And _that_ was straight from the textbook. I sighed again, and began to doodle on the edge of my parchment.

I seriously didn't know why I had to feel so bad about it! Since the incident in my-his...our (?) chambers, the Professor really hadn't changed _that_ much. He had been no nicer to me than to his other students in the past few months, although he certainly hadn't been the same bubbling cauldron of evil, either. Frankly, I wasn't sure I found either version particularly refreshing. And while I didn't like causing damage to a perfectly good mind, and I didn't want the responsibility of it to fall on me, I couldn't help but feel it was my fault.

"Gah!"

_Whatever! He broke my hand; he pays the price! I don't care anymore!_

* * *

I held on to this attitude for as long as I could, but when a week later, he was asked to supervise the Sixth Year Potions' class, my resolve weakened. By the end of the lesson, three cauldrons had exploded – Neville Longbottom's, Professor Snape's, and my own. I really didn't have much of a choice. Neville dropping too much bicorn horn in his cauldron was one thing, but Professor Snape forgetting half the ingredients, and melting a desk was just very sad to watch. So I _may_ have tossed everything in my cauldron together just to distract the rest of my classmates. For my sympathy, I was awarded detention. Considering the form of which would likely never be filed, I decided to do something potentially life threatening.

After class, I waited for the rest of the room to file out before approaching our hunched-over professor.

_Oh, Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana, he is going to kill me..._

Sucking in all the air I could manage, I let out a deep sigh.

_Calmness... _

"Professor," I asked, "would you like some help?"

Snape looked at me like I was about to bite him. There was a long silence between us where I couldn't tell if he wanted to murder me, or run away, then finally, "I am not in need of any assistance, Miss Smith."

"Oh..." I nodded, "Okay, Professor."

As I left the classroom, I had the funniest feeling he had momentarily forgotten my name...again.

_I'm probably going to Hel for this,_ I decided.

* * *

The week before Christmas Break I was extended an invitation to stay at the Weasley's; something I gladly accepted, and not in the _least_ because the distance from Godric's constant bone-crushing sounded appealing. I had intended to stay in the castle and search for antidotes to the _Obliviscaris Memory Charm, _as well as continuing research for the castle situation, but had soon realised that my best bet to find anything was probably the library at the family's summer manor, or the main house. Of course, there was always the slightest chance that someone lived there, and whilst they did, _I couldn't. _So, with this in mind, you could say I was absolutely delighted to be offered a place to stay during the holidays that also offered me the freedom of observing my new surroundings.

"You're going to love it there," Hermione explained to me as she packed her suitcase, "The Burrow is the cosiest place on Earth."

I decided that, coming from Hermione, that was like saying it was a manor on the Moon. High praise indeed. From behind me someone snorted.

"Please, it's crowded, it's old, and it smells like feet. _Boy feet_," Ginny added for emphasis, coming up behind us. Hermione furrowed her brow at that.

"It's your home," she stated accusingly.

"Yes, and that is precisely why there is no _mystique_ there for me," the redhead continued, "I know exactly where everyone has thrown up, broken bones, bled, and peed on themselves."

She leaned over to whisper in my ear, "It's disgusting," and I giggled.

"Sounds great!" I grinned.

"Yeah, just stay away from the twins. _They're evil_," Ginny said seriously. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"They're not _that_ bad," she said.

"You're the one who was always on their backs, and now you're supporting them?"Ginny retorted, "Something I should know about going on there?"

"Oh, be serious. I was only harsh on them because they kept breaking school rules!" Hermione stated calmly, folding a green sweater over her arm.

"And now," she finished, "They're no longer in school."

Ginny groaned at this, and flopped onto my bed. I think she may have moaned out "Typical," but the blankets muffled her voice too much to be sure. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught my other girlfriend grinning.

I started laughing.

"Hermione, you are a devil!"

"Only on Sundays," she replied, now completely engrossed in her sweater folding.

* * *

The day we were to leave for London, I slept in late. Not only did I sleep through three alarms, Hermione's morning ritual of 'The Shaking', and Ginevra bouncing on top of me like a crazed horse, but I also missed the warning bell for the carriages to take us to the Hogwart's Express, and several teachers' announcements to get out of bed. When I finally did rise, blinking owlishly, and flitting around the bedroom in a blazing stupor, the only thing I could think was, _Where is my bag?!_

It was, of course, on the end of my bed, where I had carefully placed it the night before, after spending three hours past curfew hunting through the Restricted Section in hopes of finding a new lead. I had no such luck, and was by that point sincerely regretting wasting my time. When I finally realised where it was, the second warning bell for the train-carriages was sounding, and I had to run for it.

Despite what others might say, sprinting down seven floors of enchanted, jinxed stairs is not an easy accomplishment, and I was thoroughly winded by the time I reached the now-deserted Great Hall. I was hobbling my way through the doors to the Entrance Hall, when I bumped into something solid and black – or _someone_ solid and black.

I stumbled back, still blinking from the day's brightness, only to find Professor Snape staring back down at me.

"Oh, sorry Professor," I mumbled, and made to move away. I had not taken three steps when I was pulled backwards again.

_What..?_

"Um...Professor?" I asked hesitantly, "You didn't happen to do that, did you?"

I received no reply. The Professor was too busy staring at the ceiling, his face barely containing an expression of horror.

"What's the...?" I started, looking up, but soon realised the problem. Spinning three feet above his head was an enchanted mistletoe sprig, and I had just walked under it.

_Oh, Fate, you slimy little shit..._

Before I could move, the Professor had started hurling curses at the rotating berries.

"Incendio!"

"Flippendo!"

"Reducto!"

"Bombarda!"

"Bombarda Maxi-"

The rest of the spell was cut off by the third shrill warning bell, and a hoarse cry of, "Gather 'round!" from the Caretaker.

"Shit!" I exclaimed. I turned to Professor Snape, who was looking at me with slightly disapproving eyes.

"I-I mean...Screw it. Sorry Professor!" I apologised as I grabbed the tall man around the neck and dragged him down to my level, where I proceeded to give him possibly the worst, most vicious snog in history, before running for it. As I reached the main doors, I turned to yell, "Merry Christmas, Professor!" back to the now very pale-faced man, and then shot out the door towards the carriages, screaming at the top of my lungs for them to wait.

* * *

**A/N: As I said above, I like this chapter. I like what happens in it, but I don't particularly like the way I wrote it, because I've already done 3 chapters today and IWASJUSTSOOOOOOOEXCITED to write/edit it properly. Because it is a good chapter, and a pretty chapter. - points go to whoever gets that reference. :D**

Love,

**Lucy~!**


	13. Hermione the Nose

**A/N: ARGHMAIGAWD I just deleted all my damn author's notes because FF is not my friend! I thought we were buddies, website! **

**Anyway...try again:**

Moi's back! Yay! Everyone; applause - **NOW!**

Also, I'm glad for the continuing support of you all, and even some newcomers to my _**twisted, dirty, smut-filled**_...wait, wrong story. :D

As Always, unregistered review replies are at the bottom, and-and that's it, I think...

Enjoy!

* * *

**_Previously:_**

_"I-I mean...Screw it. Sorry Professor!" I apologised as I grabbed the tall man around the neck and dragged him down to my level, where I proceeded to give him possibly the worst, most vicious snog in history, before running for it._

_As I reached the main doors, I turned to yell, "Merry Christmas, Professor!" back to the now very pale-faced man, and then shot out the door towards the carriages, screaming at the top of my lungs for them to wait._

* * *

Hermione had brushed it off as paranoia when Harry stated he was going to trail Draco Malfoy earlier that year, but now she was beginning to suspect that he was on to something.

_Either that, or I'm insane, too_, the girl concluded.

She had been secretly keeping tabs on the new sixth year, Sally Smith, ever since the Library incident earlier that year, and was getting quite a kick out of it, too. It was like reading a detective novel! She had even forsaken her plans of avoiding Ronald for the rest of his natural lifespan just to continue her 'research', and so instead of going home for the holidays, had followed the girl to the Burrow for a traditional Weasley Christmas break. It didn't deter her one bit that the Weasley twins – possibly the two sneakiest creatures on Earth – would be joining them within the week. After all, Fred had already replied to her owl concerning the subject of the 'transfer student', and both boys appeared to be up for some good, old-fashioned snooping.

Gathering her thoughts, Hermione let her mind linger on what knowledge she had already collected on her subject. Thus far, she had discovered Sally's key routine, as well as a few other interesting facts about the 'mysterious new girl'.

For one thing, she spent an awful amount of time in the Library (which just made it easier for Hermione to stalk her). She also never seemed to actually be doing her homework, and instead could oft be found openly studying texts on Ancient Runes – a class she didn't even take! Hermione knew this, because she _did_ take Ancient Runes. That, and as was aforementioned, she had spent the past three months picking into her classmate's private life in every way possible – and if that meant sneaking into the Deputy's office in the dead of night to raid her filing cabinet, then so be it!

Classes Sally Smith did take comprised of Herbology, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies – a haphazard mix, and not one that pointed to any particular wizarding career, reputable or otherwise. So, being the expert nose that she was, Hermione had deduced that Miss Sally '_Call-Me-Sal_' Smith – _if that was her real name_ – was up to something. Something that definitely involved runes, and possibly a dark plot, if her tingling senses were anything to go by.

She just couldn't figure out what!

_Honestly, the girl shows up from the middle of nowhere, claiming to have lost her way into _Hogwarts_, and Dumbledore just _sorts her_!_

Hermione was outraged.

_Of course,_ she reasoned, _being Dumbledore, he must have sensed something about the girl, but what? If she would just stop flying under the radar..._

The brunette growled, her curls coiling tighter in frustration. The same questions had been plaguing her for months, and she hated it! What was it that had led the Headmaster to trust the stranger in their midst, instead of interrogating her, then and there?

_I can just never figure that man out! _she screamed internally, stomping her foot.

"You 'lright?"

Hermione's head snapped up from her unpacking, to glance across at her red-headed bunkmate.

"Yeah," she replied moodily, "I was just thinking about your brother."

Ginny grinned ruefully.

"Which one?" she asked.

"The insufferable one," she stated, still moody, and now because the forbidden subject of Ronald _had_ to crop up. But Ginny just laughed again.

"So, all of them?" she teased.

_Not all of them..._ Hermione thought, anticipating the twins' arrival more by the second. Loathe as she was to admit it, she didn't just want their help; she _needed_ it.

"I'm going to make some tea," Hermione said, dodging the other girl's question, and making her way downstairs to the crowded kitchen, stomping every last step of the way.

When she reached the room, however, she was slammed by the sight of Sally cackling over some joke _Fleur_ had just cracked. She felt the distinct urge to smack something – Ronald's face, if at all possible. Despite the odd circumstances of her arrival, and all her strange, almost antiquated mannerisms, Sal was hard not to like. It was like she put a spell on everyone she interacted with.

_A curse?_ The paranoid part of Hermione's brain screeched, going into overdrive.

_Oh, don't be silly; you've checked for that already_, she snapped at herself.

Heating the jug, Hermione continued her earlier train of thought.

_Part Veela?_

She certainly did seem to get along with Phle-Fleur well enough, and they weren't entirely dissimilar...

_Now, there's a thought!_

Truthfully, the two witches were like black and white, but there was something _there_ in the way they held themselves; the sway of their hips; the way they interacted with others that made them eerily analogous to each other.

The witch felt awfully proud of herself. She would have to research the Veela bloodlines later! All families linked to the fae, even! She would get something on that book-snatching troublemaker if she had to scour the entirety of history to find it!

Hermione briefly considered that she had been reading too much Nancy Drew...

"Hermione, the kettle's boiling over!" a startled voice snapped her out of her reverie, and the girl pulled back just in time to avoid a nasty burn to the hand.

"Are you alright?" the same voice asked, and Hermione realised with some annoyance that the concerned emerald eyes in front of her _did not_ belong to Harry.

"Oh, you should be more careful!" Fleur exclaimed, appearing to be equally worried, "You would not want to end up in ze burn ward! _Poor girl_!"

_Poor girl?!_

Hermione almost wished she were Crookshanks in that moment, so she could at least get away with a _little_ vicious mauling. The blonde was perfect enough – she could deal with a few nicks here and there. Pull them off like a movie star, probably.

"Here, let me get that for you," Sal murmured, pouring the boiled water into a nearby mug, "You've been looking pale lately. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"I'm fine," she replied automatically, though even she could hear the strain in her voice, and Sally looked unconvinced. She didn't question Hermione further, however, and the girl was grateful for the consideration.

_Smith Fact Number Forty-Four: she knows when to back off._

Fleur had no such compulsions.

"You should zit down, zweetheart," she intoned gently, "You do look pale."

Hermione grimaced, but complied, if only to avoid a fight.

_Why do the insincere ones have to be so likeable?! _She huffed.

After all, no one was _truly_ as nice _and_ pretty as Fleur – it was a paradox! And as for Sally; well, if she had really been a considerate individual, she would check her books out _properly_ once in a while, wouldn't she? Hermione had been counting the number of times that had happened – none.

Maybe her new classmate really was some sort of magical creature? she thought drearily. The rules of the world seemed to just bend to her will wherever she went, as if they felt she was a worthy exception. Hermione could admit - it was entirely unfair!

_She never even has to wait for a staircase..._

As she was handed perfectly brewed tea, Hermione sighed. Once more, she felt thoroughly outwitted.

* * *

**A/N: I was in a REALLY good mood until fanfiction decided to delete my A/Ns and story edits. I hope it still flows smoothly. I'm only alive because of Irish Moss, and a back brace, right now. Suffice to say, I'm not physically feeling the best. **

Moi,

I'm a bit sleepy to address all your points (especially since some will be coming up soon. Hehehe...), but I will make a few notes.

On 'God': Of course it goes to his head. I have to giggle every time I type that nickname out. Let's just say, he wouldn't be so brash if his first name was Larry. :P

On Snape's kiss: Summing up his recent fanfic life in my world as a movie title... I'd pick Never Been Kissed (By Salazar Slytherin). **Except, with Death Eaters, and conspiracies, and a lot more unwelcome surprises.** Haha!

On my one-shot (because I can't reply anywhere else): I think I should have kept that in the bag for another few chapters, or at least put a tantalising *SPOILER!* alert on it (yeah, because that would STOP people...right). However, considering Sal's going to delve into her past soon anyway, it's not so bad. :D

P.S. **YOU!** Yes, you who are not Moi... ***SPOILER ALERT!***

**Love**

**Lucy~!**


	14. Medical Mornings

**A/N:**** I apologise for the long delay on this chapter (just over a month). I've been a bit sick, so this chapter is shorter than usual, but also, my mother has decided to drag me halfway across the world next winter/summer (I'm _really not complaining_ about that), so a lot of my spare time has been spent on either planning, or writing original fiction.**

Anyway, I'll stop boring you all to death and back, now. **Lucy presents '_Chapter 14_'!**

**Enjoy. :)**

* * *

Previously:  
_  
She never even has to wait for a staircase..._

As she was handed perfectly brewed tea, Hermione sighed. Once more, she felt thoroughly outwitted.

* * *

_I hated winter. Really, really hated it. There was absolutely no purpose whatsoever to the season. Unless you counted cursing me with scaly skin as a purpose – and I meant scaly. As in, snake scaly. And it was the same every cold season. I knew it was just my body's natural defences kicking in; trying to keep my half-blooded arse warm enough meant that some other less-than-human traits started appearing. Normally, this would cause me to go running to my parents, forbidding them from ever breeding again. They would laugh; mother would probably do that creepy, satisfied little fey hissing thing, tell me to go bathe in olive oil, and help me scratch off the decidedly inhuman skin I was shedding – which, in turn, would cause me to do that creepy, satisfied little fey hissing thing. Sometimes Godric would come along just to laugh at my pain, and I would try to _**pry his eyes out of his thick skull** _(gently, of course), before we were separated by Father. That was my life. That was the way I liked it. But life was no longer normal. Life was no longer so _linear_. And I kept forgetting that._

_So, what has prompted this little description of my past (something that, no doubt, has you wondering about my origins)? Winter, 1996, or course. The worst winter of my life..._

* * *

I was being followed; I just knew it. I didn't know who it was – what it was, but that dark, shadowy presence was always looming just past the range of my eyes. Hidden in plain sight, if you will. Hidden in the shadows of my-

_Oh Morgana, it was choking me!_

"Hweelpff! Huwwuff!" I screamed, tongue colliding with the pale flesh that was holding me in place; muffling my cries for assistance.

_Assistance, direly needed!_ I noted, wondering just _where_ I was.

I needed to stop waking up to strange ceilings. It was becoming a rather bad habit, and was _not at all_ dignified.

_Don't tell me Professor Snape wants to kill me because of that stupid mistletoe?!_ I thought wildly, _I only kissed him so I would get to the Weasleys' on ti-_

I stopped struggling for a moment, glaring in confusion at said unfamiliar ceiling. It was becoming awfully familiar for something unfamiliar, in fact.

_I _am_ at the Weasleys'..._

Shifting my eyes sharply to the right, I saw the blissfully slumbering face of Ginevra Weasley. She lay stretched out leisurely across the bed, her arm sitting quite comfortably - _for her -_ in my mouth. Her arm was in my mouth. Her arm. _My mouth_.

A few choice curses ran through my head in Parseltongue. The teacher in me was quite glad none of them had an English counterpart, but the rest of me was too busy being pissed, and damned _itchy_!

My mind was in quite a haze all around, actually. Believe me when I say that on the very first morning after my arrival at the Wealseys' Burrow, I was not expecting to find myself awakening to a damaging headache, a _crawling_ back, and an impressively long mental list of 'Things Salazar Really Ought To Do'.

That _Get Ginevra's Arm Out of My Mouth_ was at a very high priority on that list, was the only thing that surprised me less than it should have. The girl slept like the physical embodiment of an epileptic seizure.

Pushing her limp arm away from my face – a feat much harder than it should have been, I assure you – I quickly found myself suffocating underneath the weight of her entire body. I let out another curse in Parseltongue.

_Why?_ I thought, mercilessly heaving against the surprisingly heavy body that was draped lazily across me. Or, at least, the greater portion of me. My legs were free enough for me to eventually knee the sleeping girl back into a more _proper_ sleeping position. Like off of me.

"Damn it..." I groaned softly, reaching up under my shirt to scratch at my aching back. That scaly skin peeled off in the process did nothing to ease my inner pain.

"Damn it," I sighed again.

Glancing down at the dead, silvery flakes on my hand, I decided I'd have to find something more constricting to wear. It would be uncomfortable, but the alternative... Leaving a trail of – essentially – snake skin across my host family's threshold somehow didn't seem like a good way to make allies, or keep my secrets. From what I had heard, this 'Lord of Darkness' they were fighting was an ardent advocate of keeping scaled pets, and if there was one thing I had learned in all my years of defending both my honour, and Hogwarts from those who might smear their names, it was that you did not show yourself to have common ground with the enemy. Especially if you were a Slytherin. Especially if _they_ were a Slytherin.

Yet another item added to my internal list, I rolled onto my front, face flat into my pillow, and stared at the redheaded obstacle blocking my advance to the door. After a moment of deep contemplation (followed by the pocketing of my loose skin), I rose to my knees, and carefully as I could, attempted to climb over the sleeping girl, thinking groggily that there should be more beds in the Weasley household. Or at the very least that I should have slept with Hermione instead. She looked less likely to try turning me into a cannibal in my sleep.

_Less likely to kill me in it, either,_ I thought wryly.

Unfortunately, this was where my morning uncoordination kicked in, and I fell heavily on top of the redhead I was trying to slip over, illiciting a painful 'oof' from both of us. On the plus side, I managed to exact revenge upon Ginny in a fairly friendly manner; however, I found myself face-down on the carpeted floor, struggling to move.

"Ssssssss!" A gurgling hiss formed in the back of my throat, as I weakly pushed against the floorboards with my uselessly weary arms. I finally gave up as a loud yawn sounded behind me.

"Sally?" a questioning voice called, and I had no choice but to roll over to face its owner.

"Yes?" I asked, visibly exasperated. I tried to blow an unruly lock out of my face, but it just came back down in the same place again.

_Damn curls..._

"Oh, there you are," Ginny said, smiling cheerily, "What are you doing on the floor?"

Here, the girl paused for a moment, lifting her left arm, as though to inspect it. She frowned.

"Why is my arm wet?" she asked.

"Ask your nocturnal myoclonus," I responded sarcastically, falling back onto my elbows.

_And in a surprise turn of events, medical jokes are taking presidence this morning! _I thought snippily. It was bad enough that I had to heal multitudes of students everyday for the past seven years – now I was cracking myself up at modern medical terms because of that _stupid_ Severus Snape and his _stupid_ memory loss.

_Arse..._

Ginevra quirked a brow in confusion.

"My wha-?"

I raised my hand.

"Just...just don't. I can't think right now."

The other girl shrugged.

"Okey-dokey," she said, jumping out of the bed in a spritely manner I would have had trouble with during even an acceptable hour. I comforted myself with the thought that this probably _wasn't_ an acceptable hour, and Ginny was some sort of superhuman, magical being of great strength, considering that even Early-Rise-Hermione was still fast asleep in the bed leaning against the opposite wall. I glanced at her and felt envy.

_Oh, to sleep in..._

But I had things to do. Things that started at Gringotts, I recalled. Finally rising to my feet, vertigo ubruptly changed my mind for me.

_Things that start with tea_, I decided, stumbling past the humming Ginevra and her easily-brushed mane, into the hallway.

After all, all good things started with tea.

_I had forgotten that sometimes, bad things did too._

* * *

**A/N: ****Just quickly (I'm on a bit of a tight leash time-wise), thank you so much for all the positive feedback, or even if you just enjoy silently reading this story. It means a lot to me. ******

**As always, love,**

Lucy~!


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